


The Girl in the Tower

by nauticalparamour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Dumbledore, F/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Time Travel, Time Travel AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26461684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticalparamour/pseuds/nauticalparamour
Summary: Life isn’t the fairy tale Hermione has been told about. Sometimes the handsome prince who comes to rescue you from the tower isn’t the good guy after all.Tom Riddle discovers that Dumbledore is hiding a girl in Hogwarts. She must be important, though, if he is going through so much trouble to hide her. He intends to find out. Time travel AU.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 490
Kudos: 1035
Collections: if our love's insanity why are you my clarity





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, here is my next story - the majority of it will be from Tom's POV. I am hoping to have updates once a week on Mondays, but I honestly can't make promises. I'm finding it hard to carve out time to write. I will try my best, though! I've got the next chapter finished and nearly chapter three as well, so you can plan through at least September, lol. You can follow me over on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I will be posting sneak peeks, story updates and answering questions.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of chapter one and be on the lookout for chapter two soon!

**June 1997**

Harry had been struggling.

In hindsight, Hermione should have realized that sooner. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She knew he'd been struggling. Of course she had. He'd been obsessing over a potions textbook for months - wouldn't even let her hold it because he knew the power it had over him. He'd been obsessing over Draco Malfoy for months, assured that he was a Death Eater. Though perhaps he'd been right about their classmate considering the events of the night.

She didn't think it was anything too out of the ordinary when Harry had been whisked off to Merlin knows where that night. He had been working with Dumbledore on something all year, something involving Professor Slughorn and by that point, she had gotten used to Harry not divulging everything that was on his mind.

But when Death Eaters were suddenly running infiltrating Hogwarts, she knew that something must have gone horribly, horribly wrong. She fought alongside Order members, with Ron, Neville, Luna and Ginny, all of them sharing the bit of felix felicis that Harry had left behind in the hopes of coming out the other side alive. There was no Harry. There was no Dumbledore.

Until Harry was sprinting down out of the astronomy tower, a man possessed, chasing after Severus Snape who had an upset looking Draco Malfoy under his cloaked arm. Sensing something was wrong, Hermione had followed after him, knowing that he needed to be protected, even if he would rush into situations without a care for himself.

Hermione finally caught up with Harry on the edge of the school grounds. He tried to use a dangerous spell - one from the potions textbook - against Snape, who finally whirled around and blocked the spell.

"You think you can use my own spell against me?" he asked, swelling with pride. " _I_ am the half-blood prince." Their former professor did not leave room for any follow up and was gone the second he and Malfoy stepped out of the protection of the Hogwarts' wards, apparating to parts unknown.

Harry fell to his knees, screaming in agony.

Hermione rushed to his side, thinking that perhaps it was his scar that was hurting him, or maybe Voldemort in his head again. "Harry, what is it?" she asked, grabbing him by the shoulders so she could get a look at his face.

He was shaking violently, but it wasn't until he finally looked up at her that Hermione realized that he was crying. More than crying - he was sobbing, absolutely inconsolable. Harry had been so strong for so long, she was mostly unprepared for this. She'd seen him angry and she'd seen him happy, but Hermione had never seen her best friend looking so utterly broken before.

Wrapping her arms around him tightly, she would let him cry for as long as he needed. She could feel his tears wetting her shirt and the cool air of the evening no longer warmed by the sun, but she wouldn't move until he was ready.

She couldn't say how long they stayed like that, but eventually she could hear Harry's voice croaking out repeating the same thing over and over again. "He's dead Hermione," he rasped. "He's dead, he's dead, he's dead."

"Who is dead, Harry?" she asked eventually, pulling back so that she could get a look at his face. She pushed his messy, black hair out of his eyes, revealing the pinkish lightning bolt scar on his sweaty forehead. His round glasses were slightly askew. "Tell me."

"Dumbledore," he answered, sounding absolutely miserable. "Snape killed him! Snape killed Dumbledore...Malfoy was going to try to, but Snape beat him to it."

Hermione's mind whirred with the thought that their classmate (who was mean and cruel, but mostly harmless) would actually have tried to kill their Headmaster. It seemed that Harry had been right about him all along. But then, Dumbledore was dead.

She felt the odd prickling of tears in the back of her eyes when she thought about it. Albus Dumbledore seemed such an institution of a man. It was nearly impossible to imagine Hogwarts without him at the helm. The thought that he was just suddenly gone, no longer there to give strange advice with a twinkle in his blue eyes...it was a sucker punch to the gut.

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry," she whispered, wrapping him up again in a tighter hug. Harry Potter had experienced so much death in his short life, it was more than any one person should have to bear.

"I can't do it, Hermione," he said with a sigh. "I can't." He shook his head feebly, before pounding his fists against the grassy ground, more toddler than of-age wizard in that moment.

"That's not true Harry," she admonished him. Yes, she understood that he was upset at that moment, but she wasn't going to let his negative thinking spiral. He needed time to grieve, but she couldn't let him give up, not after how long they'd worked at it. "You've got Ron and I to help you. We will be by your side every step of the way, and we will figure it out."

He glared at her, a look that made Hermione pause. "You don't understand what Dumbledore's told me," he sneered. "You can't _possibly_ comprehend the task that he's left for me. I can't do it, Hermione."

She found herself growing frustrated with Harry, angry that he was just going to give up so easily after everything they had been through. They had gone up against impossible odds before (Godric, they'd taken on the Ministry just last year!) and had always managed to find a way out of their scraps. Hermione had thought that since they were fighting for something so _important_ , they were fighting to do the _right thing_ , that Harry would be filled with that never ending desire to move forward, even when things seemed impossible.

"I've been called the brightest witch of my generation, Harry," she answered. "I don't think I'll have any difficulty comprehending."

"Not this, Hermione. It's worse than anything I could have come up with," he said. "I - we won't be able to handle this without Dumbledore's help and now he's _gone_. He's _dead_. So I suppose we are just fucked."

Harry was struggling.

But then his green eyes flew to her face, his demeanor suddenly perking up. "Unless..." he trailed off. "Hermione, give me your time turner," he demanded.

"What? No!" she answered, knowing that he was going desperate.

"If we go back in time, we can save Dumbledore's life. We can stop him from ever taking me to that cave, and he will be alive," he said, growing more determined by the second. "And then he can help me deal with the horcruxes."

She stuttered over the word horcrux. It seemed familiar, but she wasn't sure that she knew what it was. In any case, she needed to tell Harry his plan wouldn't work. "Harry, we don't have enough time to plan. There are too many variables, too many risks. If you saw yourself, you might go mad."

"That is a risk that I'm willing to take," he countered.

"But I'm not," she said sternly, not willing to debate the topic any longer. "You need a good night's rest, Harry. You are still in shock, and... I don't fully understand what you've done tonight, but I know you need time to process it all. The shock of it."

"Hermione, give me the time turner," he repeated, his voice serious and calm.

She was about to protest again, but then he was lunging at her, grabbing at her neck where she wore that damned time turner. The time turner that she wasn't even supposed to still _have_ , but no one had asked for it back after she completed her third year. The time turner that she wore for familiarity, almost as a talisman.

Hermione batted his hands away. "Harry, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice shrill as she tried to get away from her friend.

But, he'd wrapped an arm around her, holding her close so that he could claw at the time turner, intent on getting it. "I need to go back. I need to save Dumbledore," he hissed, absolutely crazed by his grief.

She tried to kick him off, to push him away, but it was too late. He'd managed to wrench the time turner from her hands and had already begun spinning the rings. "You don't even know how to use it," she cried, pulling on the heavy golden chain that was around her throat. "Please, Harry, you are going to break it."

Finally, she kneed him in the groin, making him double over in pain. Hermione scrambled to her feet and began running in the opposite direction, hoping that she could get away before he made a terrible mistake. She spun the rings back, wishing that she'd been counting how many turns he'd given it, hoping that she wouldn't end up too far back when she ultimately had to let it go.

Just as she was about to get to safety, Harry tackled her from behind, sending her sprawling on the wet grass. Shocked, Hermione dropped the time turner and watched horrified as the rings started spinning. As she hit the ground, Hermione was unable to do anything but watch helplessly as the glass shattered, sending the charmed sand spilling out between her fingers.

"Harry? What did you do?" she cried, turning to look at her friend, before he slipped away in a flurry of movement.

Time was speeding by her faster and faster with each passing second, until she grew too dizzy to focus. Hermione fell back against the ground, her vision fading to black.

* * *

**August 1944**

Hermione wasn't sure how long she was out for, but when she came to, the sun was shining hot on her face. Sitting up, she looked around and was glad to see that she was still on the Hogwarts grounds at least. _When_ she was was a completely different question.

"Bloody Harry," she whispered to herself bitterly, trying not to hold her friend in too much contempt. Of course, she knew that he had snapped. He had been struggling the whole of sixth year, but Dumbledore's death had sent him over the edge. She shouldn't blame him, but he was always running into situations and not listening to her.

Sitting up, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tight as the world began to spin again. That was _not_ a good sign. She had traveled through time plenty of times and never had she experienced such a severe reaction to it. Her hands reached for the gold chain around her neck, her fingers trailing along it to look for the tiny ball of sand surrounded by several rings, only to come up empty.

Her heart stopped.

"No, no, no, no, no," she repeated as the panic began to set in. She felt around in the grass, feeling for the only things that would give her a little bit of hope in this situation. And when her fingers finally chanced on the object, her finger was cut on the edge of broken glass. The time turner was absolutely smashed to pieces. Tears sprang to her eyes and she let out a scream, part feral, part broken, needing to get some of her emotion out of her before she burst. Pressing her face into her hands, she cursed her friend once again. " _Bloody_ Harry!"

Then she began crying in earnest, giving herself a minute or two to feel sorry for herself. Only, feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to get her out of the situation she found herself in. Wiping the hot tears off of her cheeks, Hermione knew it was time to get pragmatic about the situation.

Maybe things weren't that bad. Until she knew how far back in time she'd gone, there was nothing she could do. Once she did that, she would be able to figure out how to get back to her proper time. First, she would get all the facts, and then she would work on getting the hell out of here - whenever _here_ was.

Standing up, Hermione stared at the castle looming in the distance. It didn't look any different than it did normally. She thought of Dumbledore's words of comfort given to Harry, and her heart clenched with hope.

 _Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it_.

A smile formed on her face as she made the short trek up to the school. Hermione hadn't realized how far she and Harry had gotten from the entrance, but it seemed rather a long way to walk now. The massive doors were closed, but unlocked. She opened them cautiously, before stepping inside the sanctuary of Hogwarts.

Curiously, it was entirely empty. "The students must not have returned yet," she said with a frown. Nibbling her lower lip, she hoped that she would cross paths with _someone_ , because she actually wasn't sure if the Professors stayed at the school during the summer months, or if they returned to their own homes.

Eventually, she decided that she would head in the direction of the Headmaster's office, knowing that he was most likely to be in out of anyone. Only, she wondered which Headmaster it would be. Her feet carried her to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office without a second thought. When she got there, Hermione was bitterly disappointed to find the gargoyle entirely uncooperative.

"Godric, please, can't you just tell the Headmaster that I need to speak with him?" she begged, after trying two dozen passwords. "It's an emergency."

The gargoyle remained in its place, unmoving.

Hermione wanted to pull her hair and scream, wondering if _anything_ was going to end up going her way today. Huffing, she would just have to go check the Great Hall she supposed. Turning on her heel, Hermione was shocked to come face to face with a wand pointed at her nose. She put her arms up in surrender immediately, knowing that she'd never have time to draw her own wand.

"State your name," a deadly serious voice said, different but recognizable.

She looked past the tip of the wand, up until she was staring into the eyes of it's master. _Dumbledore_ , she thought fondly. "Please, Professor Dumbledore, it's just me, Hermione Granger," she said in a rush.

Dumbledore did not seem to relax even a bit at her words. "I don't know a Hermione Granger," he said, his eyes narrowing.

Hermione let her eyes rove over the wizard's form. His hair was just brushing his shoulders and was clearly a golden, auburn color. His beard had not year accrued any great length, and was instead neatly trimmed and dark. Dumbledore also did not yet wear glasses, half-moon or otherwise. The only constant was his deep purple robes.

"I'm sorry sir, I don't believe that we have met...yet," she said, mournfully, hoping that he wouldn't be too difficult to convince. "I've had an accident with a time turner, you see. I'm afraid I've come from a very distant future to you." She tugged on the golden chain that hung around her neck as proof. "Do you think you could tell me what the date is?"

"It's August 18th, 1944," he said, still looking cautious.

"Oh _Merlin_ ," Hermione said. "I've come from about...five decades in the future." She felt her body begin to sway, feeling lightheaded again, only this time she knew it was not from the time travel.

"Five decades? Impossible," he dismissed her.

"I assure you, it's not," Hermione countered. "My friend and I were fighting over a time turner and well, I fell on it. It's shattered to bits actually."

"Obviously a very stupid thing to do, Miss Granger," he said with a hint of a sneer.

"I was only defending myself," Hermione said, suddenly feeling very defensive. If only Dumbledore knew what the fighting was over. "I am typically very careful with the time turner, but this time was an accident."

Silence stretched between them, but eventually, Dumbledore put his wand away. He was still distrustful of her, that was obvious, but he was clearly willing to listen to her side of the story. "What business do you have at Hogwarts? And with the Headmaster?"

She wanted to roll her eyes at the man. "Clearly, I am a student here," she said, gesturing to her uniform. Then, she caught sight of herself. She was absolutely filthy, her crisp white school shirt covered in dirt and a sleeve half torn off from a missed slicing hex. Her side was stained with the brownish color of dried blood from where she'd obviously caught a hex during her duel. Her knees were green from falling into the grass. She looked an absolute mess. "I'm a Gryffindor."

"You are dirty and bleeding," Dumbledore answered, though he did not seem especially concerned about her well being. "I suspect you might have a head injury as well."

"I don't have a head injury," Hermione said, growing frustrated. This was not the warm welcome that she had expected from the normally kindly, old wizard. "And I was hoping to talk to the Headmaster because I need help getting back to my correct time."

Dumbledore grimaced. "Headmaster Dippet is still traveling," he said. "But, I doubt that he would be able to help you much with getting you back."

Hermione's stomach dropped and her shoulders drooped in defeat. "I just thought...I just thought...Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it," she said. "And I am asking for help. I don't have anywhere else to turn to."

He looked her up and down, measuring the content of her words, perhaps still deciding if she was trustworthy. "Well, you are certainly injured," he said finally. "I can help you with that first, and then we can discuss your other myriad issues. Follow me, and I will take you to see the matron."

She sighed heavily, before deciding that it might be best to just do as he said. Her body was feeling sore and her side was beginning to ache. She could be healed, and then maybe he would take her more seriously once it was confirmed that there wasn't anything wrong with her. "Alright," Hermione agreed.

They began the slow walk up to the second floor to where the Infirmary was located, the whole time spent in silence. Hermione kept looking at Dumbledore out of the corner of her eye, thinking of how different he seemed to the kindly, old Professor she knew from her time. She still hadn't even registered that he was _dead_ in her time, no matter how many times Harry had said it.

But then...he wasn't dead now. And Harry had wanted to go back to prevent Dumbledore's death in the first place. She bit her lower lip. Perhaps she should warn him of some far off day in the future when he would be killed by a man he trusted.

Why stop there?

Perhaps she should tell him that Voldemort returns during the Triwizard Tournament. Or that he never really died in the first place. Perhaps she should tell him that Voldemort would go after the Potters, leaving Harry an orphan. Or that Sirius Black did not betray them. Perhaps she should tell him that Voldemort would come to power. Or that the Ministry would be powerless to stop him.

Perhaps she should tell him that Voldemort was coming and he was going to take over the world. That he would do anything to seize absolute power.

"Sir, I'm just starting to realize that I have very valuable information that I _need_ to share with you about the future," Hermione said, trying to keep up with his long strides.

"Ah, Miss Granger, you know better than to try to tell me details of the future," he said. "It could cause catastrophic ripples to history as you know it."

"But, Professor, it's very important," she insisted.

"Don't you want to be returned to the future that you came from?" he asked, his face unreadable behind his dark beard. "You might make changes that you don't like."

Hermione shook her head. She knew in theory he was right, but at the same time, he didn't understand the evil that they were facing off against. "It's a sacrifice that I'm willing to make," she insisted. "What is my comfort level if I can make real change for the _greater good_? No one else will know, because know one else knows what's supposed to happen."

She had hoped that using his own words against him would give Dumbledore pause enough to listen to her, but she remained sorely disappointed. "I must insist that you do not share anything with me," he said when they arrived at the door to the infirmary.

Before she could argue anymore, the matron was bustling out of the room, taking one look at Hermione and ushering her into one of the beds, thrusting healing potions into her hands to drink. It wasn't until she sat down on the stiff, white linen on the bed that she realized just how exhausted she was.

"Professor, it's important that I share my knowledge with you," she said, unwilling to give up the fight. "Too many lives are at stake for me not to. I'm sorry, but it's non-negotiable."

Finally, it seemed as if Professor Dumbledore was conceding. "If you feel so strongly about it, I'll hear you out. I cannot promise to act on anything you share with me," he said with his hands held out in surrender. "But, I insist that you focus on healing up first. Get a good night's rest, and we can talk about it tomorrow."

Hermione felt uneasy, but knew that she was far too tired to argue with the man at that point. Once she agreed, he left, citing his need to write to the Headmaster and let him know of her sudden appearance at the school. She was left alone with the matron, who was busy scolding Hermione, asking how she'd gotten so many injuries.

"I was in a duel," Hermione said.

"A duel?" the matron asked with disbelief. "Who would try to duel with you? You're little more than a baby."

She could barely hide her smile. For so long, Hermione had been treated as much older than her true age, being asked to take on much more responsibility than she should have to. That came with the territory when you were Harry Potter's friend, though. The matron didn't know that, and just saw Hermione like any other student. Yes, Grindlewald was out there somewhere, but Hogwarts was protected. Students were not at risk.

How much things would change.

Hermione was only able to stomach a few spoonfuls of the heavy broth that the matron had prepared for her. Her eyes were growing too heavy and her exhaustion could not be fought any longer.

She slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Professor Dumbledore was waiting at her bedside when she woke up. "Good morning, Miss Granger," he said with a hint of a smile. "I trust that you slept well."

"I feel like I've slept an age and hardly a wink at the same time," Hermione answered, knowing that it would take a little bit of time for her to recover from the battle. "Are you ready to hear what I have to share?"

"In good time, yes, but first there are some things to take care of," Dumbledore responded, sounding far too pleased with himself. "I've spoken with Headmaster Dippet. He's agreed to house you here at Hogwarts until such a time that we can return you to your own time."

Hermione felt as though a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. It was comforting to know that she could remain in the security of the castle while they sorted everything out instead of being turned out to the wolves at the Ministry. "Thank you sir," she said.

"And, I've arranged some old Professor's quarters for you for the duration of your stay," Dumbledore continued. "That way you won't be disturbed when the students return in a few weeks time."

Again, Hermione was grateful that he would do that. "That's generous of you," she said. "I wouldn't have complained staying in Gryffindor Tower, though."

"Too many questions if you are exposed to the students," Dumbledore answered, his blue eyes shimmering. "If you are feeling up to it, I can take you to your quarters now? The matron has given you a clean bill of health."

"That would be great," Hermione answered. "I've spent far too much time here as it is. I'd rather not extend my stay." She rubbed her hands up and down her arms when she thought of the month she was confined to the Infirmary because Dolohov had cursed her the year prior. Standing up from the bed, Hermione gathered her wand off the bedside table and made a mental note to ask Dumbledore about borrowing a uniform or a set of robes. There was only so much spells could do to clean your clothing between proper laundering.

Hermione happily followed Dumbledore out of the Infirmary, making polite small talk the whole while about what he was doing to prepare for lessons. She felt so much better knowing that she was going to be able to pass on her knowledge about Voldemort. Hopefully she could prevent him gaining any sort of foothold. Then, she could get back to the better future that she would have created.

They cut through the Transfiguration Courtyard before heading up to the top floor. Hermione didn't think she'd been to this part of the castle too many times, but of course there were so many passages and floors and towers that she was sure she hadn't seen a lot of it.

Finally, the pair got to a spiral staircase leading up a tower. "After you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said genially, holding his hand out. Hermione paused, thinking that this seemed a bit familiar, only she couldn't quite place it.

She started the slow walk up the spiral staircase with Dumbledore following closely behind her. Hermione thought that she had gone maybe four flights up when she realized why it seemed so familiar. Wasn't this where they had kept Sirius when they caught him in her third year...?

"Sir, is this the Dark Tower?" Hermione asked, unable to believe the words that were coming out of her mouth.

Dumbledore laughed. "I selected a room that was far away from the students so you wouldn't be disturbed," he said, stopping her when they got to the lone door. He inserted a key into the lock and pushed her inside.

Hermione stumbled from his shove, her heart beating faster and faster. Why did she get the feeling that this wasn't as genial as Dumbledore was pretending?

Looking around the room, she was impressed to find that it wasn't a dungeon. Floor to ceiling windows wound around one side of the circular room, showing off the school grounds. She was certain she could see the Quidditch pitch if she cared to. There was a massive fireplace, and a couch and a bookcase that was nearly bare of books. A lavish looking bed was off to one side, with a clawfoot tub partially hidden behind a folding screen.

" _Expelliarmus!"_

Her wand came flying out of her hand and landed in Dumbledore's outstretched one. Hermione whirled around, looking at the man in absolute horror. "What are you doing, sir?" she asked, her panic evident in her voice.

"You have dangerous information, Miss Granger," he said with a tight smile. "Surely you understand that I have to protect you from dark forces that would wish to use you. And, I need to protect you from yourself. You are reckless."

"I'm _not_ reckless, I'm trying to help!" Hermione insisted, wondering if she had trusted the wrong man.

"I'm sure you will enjoy your stay here, Miss Granger. I've given you everything you might need," he said. "But, you can always call for a house elf. They will alert me."

"You can't lock me in here!" Hermione cried, wondering if this was really happening or if it was all a terrible dream. "Say something!" she shouted when the wizard didn't even acknowledge her.

Dumbledore left the room then, shutting the heavy oak door behind him. The key jingled in the lock, clicking shut until she was left in silence. Screaming in frustration, Hermione ran to the door to try to open it, only to find that there was no knob on her side.

She was trapped.


	2. September 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am glad that you are excited for this characterization of Dumbledore... a bit different I know, but I am excited to delve a bit deeper into that. You can follow me over on tumblr (nauticalparamour) if you are interested in story updates, asking questions, and seeing sneak peeks!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of chapter two and be on the lookout for chapter three next week!

**September 1944**

The first of September did not announce itself. Instead of crisp sunshine heralding the return to school and the beginning of autumn, Tom Riddle was greeted with grey skies and rain spitting down, same as it did every day outside of Wool's Orphanage. He scowled a bit. Today was a big day for him. It was his last day in this hellhole.

He couldn't say that he would miss the orphanage that had been his home practically since he was born. There were no other teenagers there his age - most were forced to move out well before they turned seventeen. But, Dumbledore must have come up with some sort of agreement with Mrs. Cole to house him during the summer months. After all, he was only there for a couple of weeks, and he'd spend the rest of the time at Hogwarts.

The thought of Dumbledore doing him any kind of favor made Tom uncomfortable. He didn't want _anything_ from his Professor.

Mrs. Cole made no secret that she was happy to see him go off for his final year of school. She made it no secret that he made her uncomfortable. Too many bouts of accidental magic when he was a child had made her suspicious of him, and she wanted him as far away as possible. The feeling was mutual, though. Once the woman had decided there was something _queer_ about him, she hadn't treated him well, and Tom had chaffed at not being able to tell all the dirty-faced muggle children he lived with that he was a wizard and that they should be bowing down to him. He could do magic, wield power that they couldn't even _dream_ of.

He'd had his trunk packed for a week, and Tom eagerly carried out of his room. He took one last look at the dingy room that had been his over the last seventeen years, to remind himself of where he'd come up from. With its narrow window and narrower bed (one he'd outgrown when he was thirteen) there wasn't much to miss. He was sure that his upbringing at the Orphanage would be a tiny little footnote on his life that he would be quick to forget.

Although he was hungry, Tom didn't bother with breakfast. He didn't want to have to see the hungry looks that all the occupants of the orphanage wore as the muggle war waged on outside. They weren't the lucky children who got sent out to the country for fresh air and less fear of bombs dropping down on them.

Instead, he made his way out the front door, sharing a look with Mrs. Cole as he left. They were both happy to see him go.

Normally, Mrs. Cole would arrange for the handyman who lived at the school to take Tom in his truck to King's Cross station. But, as expected, there was no one waiting to help him that morning, not when he was no longer her problem.

It was no trouble to Tom, though, not when he'd been of age for nearly a year. He walked around the corner of the block, after putting a lightening charm on his trunk, before ducking into an alley that he could apparate from. Yes, technically he was not meant to perform magic outside of school until he graduated, but the Ministry surely had bigger things to worry about right now than an of-age, seventh year using a bit of magic in London.

With a quiet crack, Tom winked out of the alley and reappeared in a quiet corner of King's Cross station. Finding a cart for his trunk, Tom made his way to platform 9 and 3/4. Running full speed at the brick column, Tom was happy to find the Hogwarts Express already waiting for him.

He knew that as Head Boy, he should probably be on the lookout for the families of first year muggleborns to help them navigate the awkward entrance to the train platform, but he couldn't be bothered. Really, it should be up to the Professors who informed the muggle families to explain about the oddities of the Hogwarts Express. After all, Professor Dumbledore had conveniently _forgot_ to share that tidbit with Tom, but he'd figured it out on his own by watching carefully. The mudbloods could figure it out, too, if they really wanted to go to Hogwarts so badly.

Tom walked onto the train, heading for the same compartment that he'd shared with his Slytherin classmates since their first year. When he entered, he found that it was already occupied by Nott and Mulciber.

"Tom, settle our curiosity," Mulciber said by way of greeting, not even waiting for Tom to put his trunk up with the others. "Did you make Head Boy or not?"

Rolling his eyes, Tom looked at Mulciber, wondering if he was really as stupid as everyone made him out to be. "Do you really think that Dippet would pick anyone else but me after all my hard work over the past six years?" he asked condescendingly. Pulling out his Head Boy badge, Tom flashed at it at his housemate, before returning it to his pocket. There was no need to put it on until he changed into his uniform, and he wouldn't do that until they got closer to the castle.

"Ha!" Nott said triumphantly, before holding out his hand expectantly. "You owe me a galleon."

"Louis, did you really bet against me?" Tom asked, looking at Mulciber absolutely aghast. Honestly, if the wizard didn't make up for his lack of brains with really impressive brawn, Tom was sure he would have been cut out of the little circle of support that he'd cultivated over the years a long time again.

"I just thought...well, maybe Dumbledore might kick up a fuss," Louis tried to backpedal, fishing a loose galleon out of his pocket to hand over to Alfred. "And, you never know, it's not like Ollie Sinclair didn't have the potential either."

"Ollie Sinclair hasn't applied himself outside of Hufflepuff Quidditch for the last two years, and he isn't taking half the NEWTs that our Tom is," Alfred said smugly, before taking the galleon happily. "Thanks for this, I think I'll finally buy that arithmancy book I was after."

"You're such a swot," Mulciber answered.

Tom could agree that Alfred was a little bit swotty, but he didn't seem to mind the moniker one bit. If Louis was all brawn, then Alfred was all brains. The wizard had always been the tallest in their year, but he never quite filled out, instead remaining perpetually weedy. With his brown hair and eyes, it was easy to overlook Nott, but Tom knew better than to do that. He was an exceptionally dark wizard, and he knew all sorts of arcane magic designed to cause as much pain to its victim as possible. Behind his easy grin, Alfie was really quite the little sadist.

"Does it matter if he's a swot if he's right?" Tom quipped, before sitting down in the window seat next to Alfie. "You would do well to remember never to bet against me again," he scolded the towheaded wizard, whose ruddy cheeks were quickly blushing at being caught out at not believing in their most promising member.

Alfie stretched out his spindly legs, obviously feeling like a king. "I'm sure he won't make the same mistake again, Tom," he said with a smirk.

Before they could tease Mulciber any longer, the remaining members of the seventh year Slytherin boys clambered into the compartment after them. As they'd grown older, things had gotten a bit too cramped for everyone's liking, but they knew better than to complain. It was better to be smashed in then to be left on the outside.

"Hello boys," Avery said, flashing a bright grin. "What are we discussing? How many witches you had on summer vacation?"

"Oh, piss off Gus," Mulciber said with a frown. "You know that I was locked away with my gran all summer long. Not exactly prime witch hunting territory. You don't have to rub it in."

Augustus laughed - a loud booming laugh - at his roommate's expense. "Well, then, surely you'd like to live vicariously through my stories," he offered with a wag of his eyebrows. Gus's normally copper red hair had dulled to more of a dark auburn over the summer.

"As if you got a single witch to give _you_ a second look," Rosier drawled. "Unless you were referring to your sister."

Gus looked ready to call for a formal duel right then and there. "Don't talk about my sister like that," he snarled back. Despite his desire to keep his little sister under lock and key, there was no denying that many boys at Hogwarts would love a go with Claudia Avery. She was a sensitive topic certainly.

"Don't be so sensitive about it," Evan laughed back, completely unconcerned about Gus attacking him on the train. "It's not like it's unheard of in other families. The Blacks regularly marry in the family."

Gus looked rather green at the idea of marrying his own sister. "You better watch your words!" he countered. "Your sister's going to end up with Cygnus the way she's always panting after him."

"Druella will marry whoever father tells her and that's the end of the discussion," Evan said, crossing his arms over his chest. "It doesn't matter who she might be infatuated with - she's only thirteen and she doesn't know what's good for her."

"Enough of this," Edmund drawled in that elegant way of his. "No one believes that you managed to get a single witch to sleep with you this summer, Gus. And really gossiping about who is going to marry who...how juvenile."

Once the two were suitably shamed into silence, Tom was thankful for Edmund's interference. He didn't think he could stand to listen to them argue for another second, and he would have been far less diplomatic about it.

"So," Edmund said, leaning forward towards Tom. "Did you get it?"

"Yes," Tom said smugly, puffing out his chest a bit. "I've been named Head Boy."

A look passed Edmund's face and Tom got the distinct impression that he wasn't entirely pleased for his friend. Edmund easily could have been the "leader" of their little group of Slytherins. He was good looking and charming enough, with natural leadership abilities. If Tom hadn't been there, he would have likely been the Slytherin prefect.

But Tom had been there.

If he ever got the feeling that Edmund's lingering resentment was growing out of control, Tom would have no problem _handling_ him, even if it meant losing a valuable asset. The Lestrange family was the most fanatical about blood purity to the point that they would actually kill squib family members, unlike other families who just disowned them. Tom also hadn't heard about and Lestrange fathering a half-blood child.

He was so fanatic about it that Tom worried a bit about Edmund knowing he was a half-blood, but even Lestrange couldn't deny the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself. Tom might have a filthy muggle for a father, but he was clearly the heir of Slytherin and Edmund was smart enough to recognize that. If someone was going to elevate pureblood wizards to their proper place in society, Tom Riddle was going to be the one to do it.

"I knew it," Edmund said with a grin. "But only because I've been called up to be your replacement for seventh year prefect. Do you think you could pair me with Claudia for rounds?" he teased, sending a smirk in Gus's direction.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Gus, put your wand away - he's only trying to anger you," he commanded, wondering how long it would take his friends to fall back in line after a summer of freedom. "Did no one think that I'd get the position?" he questioned.

Alfie was pressing a hand to his shoulder comfortingly. "Hey, I knew it was you," he reassured Tom. "It was an easy bet to take."

"I trust that you'll never doubt me again," Tom answered, staring each of them down. "Just remember that everything is going according to _my_ plans."

The boys all stumbled over themselves to try and assure Tom that they never doubted him or his plans, all while denigrating their Transfiguration professor and his meddling. Tom barely resisted a sneer - as if he wouldn't have anticipated Dumbledore's interference in his appointment as Head Boy.

Suddenly, the compartment felt cramped and stuffy, weighted down by his _friends_ ' betrayal. He knew that he had to leave before the rage started to bubble up inside of him. Standing abruptly, he announced his intentions. "I'm going to go prepare for the meeting with the prefects before we arrive at Hogwarts," he said.

"I'll go with you," Edmund offered.

Tom waved him off. "No, that's fine, I don't need company," he insisted. "Just don't be late for the meeting."

Once he was in the freedom of the hallway, Tom was unsure of what to do with himself. Eventually, he decided that it would be best to change into his uniform. He was eager to be rid of the muggle clothes that he'd worn from the orphanage. He thought about banishing them away when he was done with them, but he really owned very few things to his name, so he tucked them away instead. Ducking into a toilet compartment, Tom quickly changed into his uniform. Staring at his reflection, he carefully positioned his Head Boy's badge until the golden thing was shining back at him perfectly. Satisfied with how he looked, he went off in search of the Head Girl.

Felicity Saint James was a fairly unmemorable half-blood Hufflepuff, but Tom knew that she would be a good Head Girl. She seemed pleased to see that it was him who would be her partner for the year. She seemed willing to follow his lead when he ran through all the topics they would cover at their meeting with the prefects, and when the prefects finally did show up she was content to let him do all of the talking.

By the time that they had completed their meeting, the castle was in sight, and Tom returned to his compartment to retrieve his trunk. His friends were in a deep discussion about the Quidditch World Cup that had been canceled.

"Unfortunately, I've got to supervise the first years getting to the castle," Tom told them with a frown. "But, I'll see you at dinner."

As the train arrived at Hogsmeade Station, Tom began to wonder why being Head Boy was so important to him. So far, it had been nothing but a lot of annoying work. But then he remembered the level of privileges and power that his position gave him. He basically didn't have a curfew, he could visit the Restricted Section whenever he liked, and he could take away or give house points to any student he so desired. Not only that, but it symbolized the last six years of hard work he'd put in - he was the best in their year, with the highest marks, and all his professors liked him.

Well, almost all of them.

Being Head Boy would be another great accolade in addition to what would surely be excellent NEWT scores on his curriculum vitae when he left school and started looking for a job. And, if rumor that Professor Merrythought was really retiring at the end of the year was correct, he might even be able to nab a position as Professor at Hogwarts when the year ended, so he could continue his research into Slytherin, his basilisk, and other more nefarious topics.

Once all of the first years had been safely placed on the little rowboats that would take them across the Black Lake and up to the castle, Tom joined Felicity in the last one. "Oh, I don't think I'll ever get tired of looking up at the castle all lit up like that," she said, a dreamy look on her face.

"I still remember my first year journey like it was yesterday," Tom said in agreement. It had been amazing to him, but at the same time it felt like being welcomed home, into a world of magic that he'd always felt he belonged to. It would be strange to leave at the end of the year.

When they got inside the castle, the first years were a giggling, jittery mess as they waited to be called in for sorting. Tom looked over the group and wondered which would be future Slytherins. He saw Malfoy's younger sister and figured that she'd be joining their house, and perhaps there were more Blacks in the mix...there always seemed to be more Blacks each year. He was unsurprised to see how few muggleborns there were (they were always easily identifiable by the obvious confusion in their eyes, asking their classmates what the Sorting Hat was). Many muggles wouldn't have the resources or the desire to send their child to a strange, unknown school during the middle of a war.

Not that Tom was complaining.

Finally, the first years were ushered into the Great Hall and Tom could return to his friends at the Slytherin table. He watched dispassionately as they each took their turns being sorted, clapping politely anytime one of them joined their table. In the end, there were six new Slytherins - Alphard Black, Poppy Darlington, Emeric Fawcett, Iona Malfoy, Eileen Prince, and Flavian Wescott. Tom made a note to introduce himself to the newcomers over the next few weeks.

Once all the new students had been settled into their new homes, Headmaster Dippet stood and gave the same boring speech he gave every year, just with slightly different words. Tom was comfortable tuning it out completely, but Professor Dumbledore caught his attention at the end.

"Headmaster, if I may add on," the annoying wizard said, wearing the flashy purple robes that he favored. "Students, the Dark Tower is undergoing urgent repairs and is expressly out-of-bounds. In fact, I ask that you avoid that part of the Transfiguration Corridor all together, until a time that the renovations are complete, to avoid unnecessary injury."

Tom wrinkled his nose, thinking that it sounded odd that they would have to completely avoid the area. He would have to change his usual route to get from Charms to Transfiguration. Surely, the repairs could not be that severe? Not only was the Dark Tower currently unused, he knew that the castle was imbued with the Founders' magic. It repaired and rearranged itself on a daily basis. What could be so serious that they had to bring outside help?

It almost seemed that Dumbledore was not being completely truthful about the real reason he wanted students away from the Dark Tower. He was going to find out.

* * *

As it stood, Tom had nearly forgotten about Professor Dumbledore's announcement that the Dark Tower be off limits to students. He'd been very busy with the start of classes - learning his new schedule and recitation plans for NEWTs. He'd fielded dozens of questions from the new first years - Slytherins and the rest of them - in the first week alone as Head Boy. He did not remember being _this_ needy when he was an eleven year old.

Tom also kept busy with his social commitments, too. The Slug Club held its first meeting early, and Tom was eager to cultivate his relationship with Professor Slughorn. Any more information he could get about Professor Merrythought's retirement would give him a leg up on the competition that he had when he applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post over the summer.

And, as usual, he and his friends resumed their meetings of the Knights of Walpurgis. They'd formed back in their fifth year, on Walpurgis Night, and had plans of infiltrating all sorts of wizarding life to promote a way of life that rewarded pureblood traditions above all else. Some of their number planned to join the Ministry, while others would work in the Wizengamot, and Alfred was going to try to infiltrate Gringotts.

Tom, for his part, hoped to make an impact on education - molding the minds of children when they were still young. They needed to quickly learn the importance of pureblood traditions and the social hierarchy of the wizarding world. And if the mudbloods couldn't adapt to that system, well, they needed to be made to leave.

But really, his most important role was as the leader of the group. _He_ was the one with all of the ideas, and _he_ was the one with the most power. Tom Riddle might have a muggle for a father, but _he_ was the only heir of Slytherin alive. It made sense that he be the one pulling all the strings.

That year, they had decided to ask two Slytherin wizards to join their number. While they were both fifth years, it had been unanimous to accept Rowan Carrow and Abraxas Malfoy as new members. Carrow had been noticed by Nott to have a particular kind of fervent belief in the pureblood ideal after breaking up with his girlfriend for not being able to trace her lineage. Malfoy was less chosen for his commitment and more chosen for his bank account. It was no secret that they were the richest family in Britain, and having him to bank roll them would only help.

The two wizards wouldn't be accepted immediately, but only after they passed a series of tests - just a bit of hazing that all of the Knights of Walpurgis were happy to spend hours and hours planning.

Tom also had the displeasure of increased rounds. Any time a prefect was ill and couldn't do their rounds, it was up to him or Felicity to pick up the slack. He spent more time prowling the empty corridors of Hogwarts, looking for students out past curfew, than he ever had.

And so, it was on a random Thursday night that Tom found himself walking down the empty Transfiguration Corridor and he was reminded of Dumbledore's mention that the Dark Tower should be off limits. Intrigued, and with nothing else to capture his attention, Tom found himself climbing up the stairs of the stout, rounded tower, curious to find out just what Dumbledore was hiding up there.

It was an open secret that Dumbledore and Grindelwald had been friends once. Maybe the Gryffindor Head of House had never actually severed his ties with the Dark Wizard. The entire wizarding world had been looking for Grindelwald for a couple of months now, without any sign of him. What if he was being safely held here at Hogwarts under everyone's noses, being protected by his old friend Dumbledore?

Up and up the spiral staircase Tom climbed. He was just nearing the top when he heard the jingling of keys. Cursing that there was nowhere to hide, Tom knew that he had no choice but to continue walking up the stairs confidently. When he rounded the corner, he saw Dumbledore locking the lone door in the tower, pocketing the key afterwards.

"Riddle," the Transfiguration professor said, once he noticed he had company. "What in Godric's name are you doing up here? You know that the Dark Tower is out of bounds."

Tom smoothed his face with a charming smile that would fool any other professor in the school. "I'm sorry Professor," he answered. "I know that it's out of bounds, but I happened to be on my rounds this evening and I heard a noise coming from up the stairs. I wanted to make sure that it wasn't a student messing around."

Dumbledore stared at him, his gaze heavy as though he were trying to penetrate the lie. "I see," he finally said with a frown. "Just to be clear, the Tower is out of bounds for _all_ students, including prefects. Let me walk you back down."

Turning on his heel, Tom waited for Dumbledore to fall into step with him before he started down the stairs. "Of course, I didn't think that I had any special right to the Tower," Tom conceded through gritted teeth.

"Let me handle the Tower," Dumbledore insisted. "If anyone is messing about, I will know."

Tom's eyes narrowed. Now he was more certain than ever that Dumbledore was up to something that he shouldn't be in the Dark Tower. It was not something so simple as repairs if Dumbledore was worried about a prefect stumbling upon it during rounds. No - he didn't want anyone going near that room, which led Tom to question what or _who_ was inside of it.

He was _going_ to get to the bottom of it.

"Of course, I defer to _your_ judgement, Professor," Tom lied. Dumbledore's insistence that he stay away was only served to make Tom more suspicious.

When they got to the bottom of the staircase, Professor Dumbledore gave him a tight smile. "Well, have a good evening, Mister Riddle," he said. "You better get back to Slytherin House. I'm sure you've been quite thorough in your rounds."

Tom nodded and walked down the Transfiguration Corridor, ducking around the nearest corner. Putting a disillusionment charm on himself, he peered around the corner, finding Dumbledore still standing in front of the staircase. Tom waited, watching his Professor, until the other wizard _finally_ started off in the direction of his quarters.

Holding his breath, Tom gave it another few minutes before he doubled back towards the staircase. Taking the stairs two at a time, Tom practically sprinted to the little room at the top of the tower, eager to find out what lay on the other side. Oh, how he would love the chance to expose Dumbledore for hiding away his old friend Grindelwald. He wondered how many awards he would get for _that_ sort of thing.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest when he came to the door, ready to throw it open. Tom stopped short when he realized that there wasn't actually a knob, only a small slot for the key. Frowning, he pulled out his wand.

" _Alohomora_ ," he whispered, only to be disappointed when he didn't hear the telltale click of the lock disengaging. Frowning, he realized that Dumbledore must have put anti-unlocking charms on it. " _Alohomora duo!"_ he repeated, even though he knew it was likely a moot point. No luck - the door remained stubbornly locked.

Trying every spell that could conceivably be used to unlock the door in his arsenal, Tom repeated spell after spell, all the while slowly coming to the realization that the only way he was going to get into the room was by using the key. The key that resided in Dumbledore's front left pocket.

If he wanted to get into the room, there was no other solution but to get his hands on the key. And, well, Tom really wanted to get into the room.

Disappointed in his lack of success, Tom retreated back down to the dungeons, all the while plotting and planning how he was going to get his hands on the key, and unlock what Dumbledore was so desperate to hide.


	3. October 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am so blown away by the response to this story, and I am so excited to share all that I've got planned! You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of chapter three and be on the lookout for chapter four next week!

**October 1944**

Tom spent all of his time watching Dumbledore. He couldn't pay attention in lectures, and would stare at the Professor during meal times, all to try to come up with a way to get his hands on that key. If he was ever going to find out what or _who_ Dumbledore was hiding in the Dark Tower, he was going to need the key to get it.

He spent his rounds testing the magic in the Transfiguration Corridor, looking for any wards that would alert Dumbledore to any students trying to get in, but he hadn't found anything out of the ordinary. And, surely he would have been caught when he had tried to open the door if Dumbledore was using some magical means to track people in the Tower.

Finally, one morning at breakfast, he decided that he was just going to have to pickpocket the key from the wizard, knowing that any magical means of getting it would be easily detected by his Professor. Muggle means - a skill that he'd honed over the years at Wool's Orphanage - would be less obvious, especially coming from him.

"What is it?" a voice asked, breaking Tom's concentration and his stare at the Transfiguration Professor.

"Hm?" Tom asked, bringing his attention to a smirking Edmund.

"You're plotting something," Edmund answered confidently, before turning to look at who had so captivated Tom's attention. "Something involving Dumbledore. So, what is it?"

"I'm not sure that it's anything at all right now," Tom lied, not entirely ready to let Edmund in on what he'd discovered. He wasn't ready to let the Knights of Walpurgis know about Dumbledore's odd behavior around the Dark Tower until he knew what Dumbledore was hiding inside of it. If he needed their help, he would tell them everything eventually.

Still, the thought of finding that Dumbledore was hiding Grindelwald in Hogwarts, right under everyone's noses was almost too intoxicating. Tom could only imagine the rewards and platitudes that would come his way.

Edmund looked a bit put out, but would not argue with Tom further. "You always keep your secrets, don't you Tom?" he asked, a bit petulantly.

Tom wondered where this new animosity from Edmund was coming from. Had something changed over the summer that made his normally compliant friend suddenly so contrary. He would have to keep an eye on that, as it wouldn't do to have someone upset the delicate balance he'd cultivated in Slytherin house. "Everyone has to have their secrets, Edmund," he countered, trying to keep his face neutral. "Come on, let's get to Transfiguration."

For once, Tom was eager to get to the Transfiguration. He sat patiently in his desk during the whole of Dumbledore's lecture, before patiently practicing the new spell that they learned with his desk partner, a hopeless Gus. When the lesson was over, Tom remained in his seat, having decided that today would be the day that he would get the key from the man.

"Go ahead," he said to Gus. "I have to ask Professor Dumbledore for help with something."

"You?" Gus asked, incredulous. "What could you possibly have to ask him about? You got the spell perfect on the first try."

"It's something for the NEWTs," Tom lied, before pulling his textbook out and placing it on the table in front of him. It took about a minute or two for the rest of the students to filter out of the classroom and into the hallway, but finally he was left alone with Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was surprised to see him hanging back, if the slight widening of his eyes was to be believed. It was obvious that he didn't want him there - the constant twinkle in his eye and smile gone from his face. Dumbledore did not have time for facades with him. "What can I help you with, Mister Riddle?" he asked, his tone dripping with condescension.

Tom stood up from his desk, and carried the textbook over to the desk Dumbledore was sitting behind. "I have a question about a technique that I haven't been able to get quite right," he answered smoothly, before flipping to a random page far ahead in their lessons. "I haven't been able to master this yet."

He walked around the desk carefully, before pressing the open book in front of his professor, pointing at the first thing he could find. Looking down, he saw it was describing switching canaries into flamingos, which was honestly not nearly hard enough for _him_ to warrant asking Dumbledore, Tom thought with a frown. He was positive he could get it right on the first try.

"We won't reach this material for months, Mister Riddle," Dumbledore said with a frown. "Why don't you wait until next term, when we go over this lesson to master it?" he asked.

Tom frowned. "It's just that, with it being a NEWT year, I want to be sure that I am adequately prepared for all of my exams," he answered. That _was_ true, he supposed. "I'm having trouble with the feather color, you see. They always seem to end up a bit...orange or peachy. Not flamingo pink."

"I hardly think you would lose points for that, Mister Riddle," Dumbledore said with a sigh, but he hunched himself over the textbook nonetheless to read through what it was that Tom was struggling with.

The Slytherin rested one arm against the desk, hovering over Dumbledore as though he were reading along with him. Then he held his breath and let his fingers glide into the pocket of Dumbledore's robes. He didn't have to search long before the metal of the key was felt by his fingertips. Liberating the key from his professor, Tom slipped it inside his own pocket.

"See, this is probably where you are having trouble," Dumbledore said, pointing to a part in the incantation. "You must be _very_ precise with your pronunciation. The accent is on the _o_ here."

" _Phoeni-cop-teri,_ " Tom said, giving the proper accent on the to the incantation.

"That is correct," Dumbledore said with a nod. "Try to practice a little bit more, and if you are still having issues, we can review your wand work."

"Thank you for your time, Professor," Tom said graciously, picking up his textbook from the table. He had to work hard not to smirk, lest the unsuspecting Professor might realize something was up.

He grabbed his bag on the way out of the room and cursed the fact that he had charms to run off to. He wanted nothing more than to run up to the Dark Tower at that minute and find out what or who was inside it! But, he knew his first order of business would be to clone the key and return the original to Dumbledore before he knew it was missing. And even then, he couldn't just go flinging the door open without being prepared. If Grindelwald was inside, he would need to be fully prepared for a duel.

Checking his watch when he got to the Charms corridor, Tom was pleased to note that he still had ten minutes before class was due to start. He ducked into one of the empty classrooms and locked the door behind him. Eagerly, he pulled the heavy key out of his pocket. He stared down at it in his open palm and was surprised by how ordinary it looked, even though he was sure this was the key to his glory.

It was a simple enough task to create a duplicate of it. With the copy in hand, he tucked the original back in his pocket before calling for one of the school's house elves.

"Please return this to Professor Dumbledore's quarters. Just leave it on his personal desk," Tom instructed, handing the key over to the miserable little creature. Before it could leave, though, he performed a little memory charm so that the elf wouldn't remember where he'd gotten the key from if questioned. He was amused to see how much easier it was to manipulate the elf's memories in comparison with his Uncle's.

With that taken care of, Tom slipped back out into the hallway and into the Charm's classroom. He found his seat next to Edmund, and was barely able to contain his excitement - the key burning a hole in his pocket.

* * *

Despite his burning curiosity, Tom knew that he couldn't just go directly to the Dark Tower and throw the door open. He first needed to wait a suitable amount of time for Dumbledore's suspicion to dissipate. Of course, the wizard would be concerned to find the key on his desk, but hopefully he would assume that he had forgotten it there one day.

He also knew that he couldn't just go walking up the stairs to the little room just any time he wanted to. It wouldn't do to end up caught so soon after he'd gotten a means of entry. So, Tom waited until the most logical time to go exploring - Gryffindor's first Quidditch match.

The game was just against Hufflepuff, so when the rest of his friends eagerly salivated over the idea of Gryffindor being handed a defeat by the badgers, Tom could beg off in favor of getting a little work done in the library. It was no secret that Tom was not very interested in Quidditch, so he did not raise too many suspicions by not going. Even Edmund, who had been annoyingly interested in what he was up to lately, did not give it a second thought when Tom left them in the Great Hall.

He walked up to the third floor, where the library was, but took a turn instead. He walked along the open corridor that gave him a perfect view of the path down to the Quidditch pitch. His dark eyes looked back and forth until he caught sight of Dumbledore, wearing a garish set of red and gold robes to support his home team. Satisfied that his professor would be held up for the duration of the match, Tom skipped off towards the Transfiguration Corridor with a smirk on his face.

The halls were empty, so no one was around to see him creep up the stairs one by one, his steps echoing against the stone walls, announcing his arrival. He took a deep breath when he finally reached the door at the top once again. Tom wrapped his fingers around his wand tightly, his body full of tension as he reminded himself he needed to be ready for anything. He pressed the key into the lock and turned it.

The door made a satisfying click when it was finally unlocked.

Feeling his heart beating wildly in his chest, Tom threw open the door and stepped in. Before he could even look around at where he was, he was being attacked by a barrage of hard little fists, beating his face and his chest and anywhere they could reach really. A feral snarl rang in his ears as he was relentlessly attacked, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides.

Scolding himself for not being nearly prepared enough - he should have expected physical violence, even if it was little more than muggle baseness - Tom snapped into action. He brought his arms up, only to capture two skinny little wrists in his hands. Spinning around, he pushed his attacker back against the stone wall, before using his foot to shut the door behind him.

Finally looking down, he was surprised to see that his fierce attacker was nothing more than a slip of a girl, her face flushed pink from her effort. "Who are you? You aren't Dumbledore," she snarled, all the while trying to wriggle her way out of his grasp. Her previously wild flailing were little match for his strength, he thought wryly.

Unable to hide his smirk, he goaded her. "No, I'm certainly not Dumbledore," he agreed.

"Let me go, then," she snarled back at him, unwilling to give up her tremendous struggle.

"I don't think I will," he answered, suitably intrigued. He hadn't expected Dumbledore to be keeping a girl in the Tower, let alone someone muggle. He was honestly a little bit disappointed that it _wasn't_ Grindelwald, but the fact that this woman was standing in front of him was Dumbledore's big secret made him confused. "Why is Dumbledore keeping a muggle at Hogwarts?" he mused out loud.

Before he could react, she was bringing her knee up to make painful contact with his groin, leaving Tom hunched over in pain, immediately releasing her. She slipped out of his grasp easily enough, looking down at him disdainfully. "I'm not a muggle," she said haughtily, looking far too proud for her own good.

Tom groaned, one hand holding himself up still while his other hand cradled his bollocks. He had certainly not been expecting that. Pain radiated into his stomach and he hoped that he wasn't going to be sick in front of this infuriating girl.

He watched, helplessly, as she made a mad dash for the door. Tom surged into action, knowing this he couldn't let her get free, not when he didn't know what was so special about her.

She wrenched the door open, only to be repelled by some invisible force. She screamed, a sound feral and haunting, akin to a banshee.

Wrapping his arms around her middle, Tom pulled the woman back from the door before shutting it behind them with his wand. The woman was screaming and kicking, trying to get free, but she quickly crumbled when she realized that she wasn't going to get out. Limp, he was able to pull her towards the little sitting area in the tower next to the fireplace. He dropped her onto the settee, before taking a minute to gather his composure again.

"If you aren't a muggle, why did you attack me like one?" he questioned. "Surely your _wand_ would be more effective."

The witch pressed her the heels of her hands against her eyes, fighting back tears. "Of course, if I had my wand on me, I would have used it," she answered hopelessly. "But Dumbledore took it from me and won't give it back."

Tom sat on the couch next to her. "And so you resorted to savage muggle tactics when they were the only option available to you," he surmised.

Her head shot up and she glared at him. "I'm not a muggle, but I _am_ muggleborn," she said proudly. "Muggles are not _savages_."

He snorted in derision. "I think many witches and wizards would disagree with you if they could see the bombed remains of London right now," he said bitterly, reminded of the war that was raging.

She softened a little bit. "Of course, war is always painful," she agreed. "But using spells and wands does not make wizards nobler. I've seen many horrific things curses can do that muggles could never even dream of."

Tom was suddenly _very_ intrigued by this witch. Her familiarity with such dark curses was a surprise, and he wondered where she came from. Finally, once he was satisfied that she wasn't going to run for the door or attack him again, he allowed himself to really look at her.

Her hair was wavy brown and wild, but he couldn't tell if it was like that naturally or if it was simply a product from their tussle. Her eyes were brown, too, but not dark like his own, closer to the color of cognac, and large, like a doe's. She was somewhat ordinary, but undeniably pretty with freckles across a well proportioned nose.

Tom was certain that he'd never seen her before anywhere, despite her obvious British accent. She was of an age with him, so she should have been attending Hogwarts, but maybe her parents had sent her to Beauxbatons instead? Durmstrang would never take a muggleborn. But how would her muggle parents have known about the choices in school?

"Who are you?" he asked, his eyes narrowed. She seemed simple enough, but there was obviously much more to her than meets the eye.

She looked at him critically, obviously trying to work out if he could be trusted. "My name is Hermione," she said finally.

 _Hermione_ , he thought, rolling the sound of her name in his head. It suited, he thought.

"And why is Dumbledore keeping you here?" he questioned.

She wouldn't answer, and instead stood up from the settee. "How did you find me? How did you know to look for me here?" she asked.

He stood up to follow her. "Professor Dumbledore said that the Dark Tower was off limits for renovations. Then, I saw him coming down from the Tower during my rounds one night," he answered smoothly.

"Your rounds? Are you a prefect?" Hermione asked, her head cocked to one side.

"I'm Head Boy," Tom answered, his chest puffing out in pride reflexively. "Dumbledore was cagey when I spoke to him, and it made me think that he was hiding something."

"More like keeping me prisoner," Hermione answered bitterly, before pacing back and forth like a caged animal, desperate to be free.

Tom took a minute to look around the Tower. It was quite well furnished, but a couple of books on the shelves that surrounded the massive mantle. An opulent bed, unmade, was in one corner, with a tub half hidden behind a translucent divider. Everything was comfortable and expensive looking, far better than what he'd expect for a prisoner.

"Quite a nice prison you've got here," he quipped, before standing at the huge window that stretched from ceiling to floor and took up nearly half the room's width. It gave a very clear view of the grounds, and he could even see the Quidditch pitch from here.

"If you like it so much, we can switch places," she answered back. "I'm going insane here - I don't even know what month it is any more. I was too petulant to count before."

"It's the middle of October," Tom said, with a frown.

"It's been two months then," she said dejectedly. "My birthday's even passed without notice."

Tom filed that note away for future use. "Still, you have to admit it's better than what it could have been," he mused. "You must be quite comfortable. You can even watch the Quidditch matches."

Hermione came to stand next to him, peering out the window at the players zipping back and forth on their brooms. She smirked. "Would you believe me if I said I find Quidditch utterly boring?" she asked.

"I think I could see that," he agreed. He did not find that revelation particularly interesting, outside of the fact that it was nice to meet someone like himself who wasn't a fanatic."

"You are right that it could be worse," Hermione agreed, looking around the Tower - at her jail cell. "But there is nothing for me to do here - I've already read all the books multiple times, and I've nearly exhausted my patience trying to escape. Dumbledore stops by maybe once a week, but other than him, I only ever see the house elves that bring me food."

Tom did think that sounded utterly terrible. He couldn't imagine being cooped up, locked away without his wand for weeks and weeks without any company. He certainly wouldn't be idle, though. He would work tirelessly to learn wandless magic, a pursuit he was already working at in his spare time. If he couldn't use his wand, he would damn well figure out a way to do magic without it.

"Until you." Hermione's voice brought his attention back to her, and he noticed that she was staring at him with furrowed brow, obviously still suspicious about his sudden appearance.

"Until me," he agreed.

"You know who I am," she said, walking back towards the settee, before flopping down on it once again, her eyes never leaving him. "It only seems fair that you tell me who you are."

"My name is Tom," he said, leaving off his surname. After all, she hadn't given him her's, so it only seemed fair.

When she heard his name, he could practically see the wheels in her head turn, before her eyes widened in surprise, as though some puzzle pieces had just finally clicked into place in her mind.

Tom clenched his teeth to keep from frowning, hoping to keep his face neutral. "Do we know each other?" he asked, getting the feeling that she very much knew who he was, while he remained in the dark.

"No, I don't think we've met before," she answered.

He felt some uneasiness creep back into his mind. Hermione had knocked him off balance from the minute he walked into the Dark Tower. Despite being a prisoner, she lounged here in her finery looking more like a princess. She should be the weaker one in the conversation, but he was startled by the feeling that she held all the cards.

"Why is Dumbledore holding you here?" he demanded, wanting to know what was so special about her that she should be locked away. Did she have some sort of power that he couldn't sense? He _needed_ to know.

"How should I know?" Hermione asked with a laugh. "One day I came to Hogwarts looking for help, and then he trapped me here in this Tower and hasn't let me out since."

Again, Tom filed that away. "Why should you need help at Hogwarts?" he asked her.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't you know _help will always be given at Hogwarts for those who ask for it_?" she asked, repeating a phrase that Dumbledore had previously used on him.

Tom could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "So you knew Dumbledore previously," he said, lips pursed, wondering what the nature of their relationship was.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "You could say that," she answered cryptically.

He found himself growing increasingly annoyed with the witch. "Why did you need help, though? What were you running from?" he asked, needing to figure out where she'd come from, and just what she was hiding.

She didn't have anything to say, no quick quip that she could answer him with that time. "I don't need to share everything with you," she insisted. "After all, as we've already established, we don't know each other. Why should I trust you?"

"Because I've come to rescue you," he said, without thinking, only to belatedly realize how ridiculous it sounded.

Hermione must have thought so too, because she was bursting out laughing after a brief moment of shock. "Rescue me?" she asked with mirth in her eyes. "You didn't even know who was in here!"

Tom felt his face flush at being caught out in a lie. Of course, he never had any plans to rescue Dumbledore's captive, only use them to hurt his most hated Professor. He's wanted to turn them in and reap the glory that was sure to follow. He wanted to bask in being the hero, everyone thinking he was so selfish, when really it was nothing more than hatred pushing him to his ends.

"Tell me why Dumbledore is holding you here," he demanded one last time. Gone was any trace of the good school boy that Tom often used as a facade for his classmates and professors, leaving behind a glimpse of the dangerous wizard he truly was.

She tried to turn away from him, but Tom caught her by the arm and pulled her flush to his body. His hand found her jaw and forced her to look into his eyes. "Tell me," he said again, deadly serious.

But Hermione was still a bit wild and unwilling to yield to him. Bringing her hands up, she pushed herself away. "I'm not going to tell you anything," she spat out, taking a rather hostile manner with the first person outside of Dumbledore she'd seen in months.

Tom could feel his anger radiating in his fingertips. "Fine," he said with a snarl. "If you don't want to tell me, I suppose I'll just leave then."

She whirled around to look at him, eyes wide at the threat. Tom could see the fear of being left on her own again without another witch or wizard pass the time reflected in her eyes. She was growing desperate. "You don't need to leave," she said, her voice wavering.

"Explain then," he answered, crossing his arms over his chest, determined to find out her secrets. "What's so special about you that Dumbledore has hidden you away here?" he asked, peering at her, wishing he could see what he wanted to see.

He watched as her mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to find the words to say. "I don't know why he's locked me in here," Hermione finally said, dropping her eyes to the floor. "There is nothing special about me, I swear."

Tom could not believe her.

Walking back towards the door, Tom sneered at the girl. He was annoyed with her stubborn behavior. "You won't tell me anything, and that's fine," he said. "Maybe you just need a little bit of time to yourself to think."

Hermione closed the distance between them. " _Please_ don't leave me here all alone," she begged. "You're Head Boy, you can tell the Headmaster. I need to get out of here."

She really pleaded so prettily, but Tom was not about to just let her slip out of his grasp when he hadn't gotten the answers that he wanted. "Maybe when I come back - _if_ I come back - you will be a little more forthcoming with me," he told her with a smirk on his face. He stood in the doorway, knowing that she was unable to get out into the hallway, enjoying the agony that lingered on her face.

He shut the door before turning the key in the lock. He made his way down the stairs with a sigh, wondering how long he should wait until he went back to the Tower. Hermione definitely needed a little time on her own to stew over her decisions; however, he also knew that his curiosity would not permit him to stay away for long.

Hermione was certainly not the witch that he'd expected to find trapped by Dumbledore, but he knew there must be more to her than meets the eye if Dumbledore had locked her away in the Tower. Tom was determined to figure out what her secrets were, and then he knew he'd be able to use Hermione to his advantage.

By the time that he made it back down to the Slytherin Common Room, students were beginning to trickle back into the dungeons, signaling the end of the game. Tom snagged a spot on one of the big leather couches by the fireplace while he waited for the rest of his friends to arrive.

Gus and Louis were shoving one another back and forth, apparently in some argument about how the Slytherin Quidditch squad should change tactics for their game against Gryffindor the following month. Edmund, Alfie and Evan came slinking in a bit afterwards, with cheeks still pink from the cold.

"Well, did Hufflepuff win?" Tom asked, even though he didn't really _care_ who won the match, especially not when his mind was still swirling with thoughts of Hermione.

"Unfortunately, no," Edmund said with a frown, before choosing the seat next to him.

"Hufflepuff got the snitch, but the Gryffindor chasers were basically unstoppable and so they won on points," Evan answered with a sigh. "Gus is going to have his work cut out for him for sure."

"Interesting tactic," Tom mused. "But Gryffindors always try to brute strength their way through things. I'm sure a bit of cunning will take care of that."

"And you?" Edmund asked, his eyes searching Tom's face for _something_. "Did you have a pleasant afternoon in the library?"

Tom wondered why Edmund was always acting as if he knew something Tom didn't know lately. It was beginning to rub him the wrong way, and he might need to have a one on one conversation with the other wizard soon. It wouldn't do to have him getting any ideas. "Very productive," Tom answered.

"I should have gone with you," Alfie moaned, before stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Three hours of sitting on a cold bench just to see Gryffindor win in the end. My time would have been better spent revising for Charms. Now all I have to show for my Saturday is numb fingers and a sore arse."

Tom couldn't help but snort at the visual. "Well, you are welcome to join me tomorrow, Alfie," he offered, knowing that the studious boy would probably take him up on his offer.

"Does anyone else want one of those hot ciders the house elves make? I'll call for some," Evan offered, before standing from the table.

Even though he didn't have a chill to warm up, Tom agreed to the offer, ready to spend the rest of the day with his friends. He didn't want them to notice anything peculiar about his behavior, and chance them discovering Hermione as well. No, he was going to keep the mysterious girl in the tower a secret for as long as possible, until he decided what exactly to do with her.


	4. November 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am really so blown away and happy that you are enjoying this iteration of Tom. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of chapter four and be on the lookout for chapter five next week!

November 1944

Two weeks passed far quicker than Tom was expecting. He'd gotten rather caught up in his school work, as his first round of essays became due; it was absolutely paramount that he kept his marks up. Before he'd realized it, it was already November and he was willing to bet that he'd let Hermione stew long enough.

He began making plans to sneak off to the little room again. He easily confirmed that Dumbledore was teaching third years during his free period, and the rest of his friends would be off taking Care of Magical Creatures (a class that he had dropped after getting an OWL). It was a period when he could guarantee that no one would notice him sneaking up the stairs to the Dark Tower.

He was filled with sweet anticipation at seeing the fiery little witch again, and was very much looking forward to the apologies she was sure to give him after being left alone for so long. Tom was sure that Hermione would be ready to tell him practically anything he wanted to hear at that point.

Tom took the stairs two at a time, until he was standing in front of the heavy wooden door that trapped Hermione inside. He put the key in the lock, and turned it. Then, he pulled the door open, fully ready to be attacked again.

Only, there was no screaming Hermione flying at him the minute the door opened.

Disappointed, Tom stepped inside the room, shutting the door behind him. "Hello?" he called out, wondering if Dumbledore had moved her somewhere else.

But then, Hermione came walking out from behind the partition. "Oh, it's you," she said with a frown. "What are you doing here?"

Affronted, Tom couldn't believe the way that she was treating him. "Shouldn't you be a little bit happier to see me?" he questioned sharply.

Hermione laughed at him. "I wasn't sure if you'd ever come back - after all, it was _you_ who told me you might not," she said, pressing her hands against her hips confidently. "So, why are you here anyway?"

Tom couldn't remember the last time a witch had talked to him like this. Or a wizard for that matter. His eyes dragged up her body, and he noted that she was wearing different robes from last time. These were a soft looking pink that she looked entirely too comfortable in.

"I was bored," Tom lied, not wanting Hermione to feel like she had the upper hand in this situation, even when he thought it was clear to both of them that she did. "I had a free period and needed to kill a few hours."

"The Head Boy had free time?" she asked, cocking her head to one side. "You didn't have a snot nosed first year to help?"

He didn't like the suggestion that he wasn't doing his job. "I thought that helping a witch who was being kept prisoner might fall under my duties as Head Boy," he answered snarkily.

Hermione's face lit up in delight at the suggestion that he might be willing to help her get out of this miserable situation. "So, you'll help me?" she asked, walking across the room to where he was standing. "Because I've got a lot of ideas, but I haven't been able to test anything without my wand."

Tom was impressed to see this other side of her. It was clear that Hermione was not simply a damsel in distress, sitting around and waiting to be rescued. She was using her time to plot an escape, even going as far as to attack who she thought was Dumbledore in the hope of getting out.

"That depends," he said smoothly. "Are you going to start telling me what I want to know?"

In an instant, Hermione's excited face was transformed into something more sinister. "Get out!" she shouted, closing the space between them and pressing her hands against his chest, giving him a good shove. "Get out, get out!" she shrieked again.

Annoyed, Tom tried to grab her hands, only to have her slip out of his grasp. "I don't understand why you are being so difficult about this," he snarled, wondering how their discussion had broken down so quickly, when she'd seemed so amenable to his presence not even a second before.

Before he knew it, Hermione was marching over to the nearly empty bookcases. She picked up the largest book that she could find, and without a second thought, she sent it hurtling at his head. "I don't want you here, Tom," she shouted back. "So get out!"

He ducked the book, only to have it clip his shoulder. It was heavier than it looked, and with disappointment he realized that he was probably going to have a bruise he wouldn't be able to explain to his roommates later that night. "Fine, I'm going!" he answered hotly, before retreating to the wooden door and shutting it behind him, silencing the sound of her crying.

Tom turned the key in the lock, feeling uncomfortably unsettled. If Hermione wanted him to leave her alone, she was doing a terrible job of making him uninterested. He was only more driven to figure out her secrets now that she had reacted that way. It was clear that he was going to have to change tactics.

The Slytherin knew that Hermione must be feeling incredibly lonely and broken if the sound of her crying was any indication. The fact that her secret was more important than the companionship she so desperately wanted was proof enough that it was worth digging into.

But now he knew he might have to give her a little bit if he was going to gain her trust. He might have to help her try to get out of her prison in the hopes of getting her to open up to him. She might reveal little secrets along the way that he could later use as leverage against her.

Tom was going to have to be charming and woo her a little bit if he had any hope of getting Hermione to give up any more information.

* * *

Tom agonized about how to approach Hermione again for a couple of days. It was clear that he'd rapidly burned bridges with her and any good will she might have to hear him out had quickly evaporated. The bruise on his back still smarted, even as the color faded.

Only, he wasn't entirely sure what to do about her.

He had never had a girlfriend in the past seventeen years, and he wasn't entirely certain about how to woo a witch. He had no idea who Hermione _was_ outside of her name, so it wasn't as if he could research the things that she liked. She wasn't a simpleton like Professor Slughorn who would be delighted by some candied pineapple.

As the days went by, he grew more and more desperate. He even thought about asking Felicity, seeing as she was a half-blood _and_ a witch. Tom held back though, too nervous that the Head Girl would read too much into his questions. Finally, he decided that he would just have to ask his friends for advice, while leaving out as much detail as possible. He didn't want them to get any ideas that the witch he was trying to charm was a mouthy girl trapped in the Dark Tower.

Although he was probably most comfortable asking Alfie, the quiet wizard had never had much luck with witches. Tom had more experience than him, he was sure, despite how limited it was. Gus and Louis talked big game, but he was fairly certain that witches found them more annoying than charming. That left Edmund and Evan.

After thinking about it for a while, Tom settled on asking Evan. Even though Evan probably had dated the most witches out of their group of friends, he was a horrid gossip. Edmund was certainly more discrete, even if Tom was loathing the idea of asking him for advice. He didn't like giving Lestrange the impression that he knew more than him.

Tom cornered Edmund one evening when the rest of their friends had already gone to bed, leaving the two seventh years in the Common Room alone together. "Edmund, I've been meaning to ask you something," Tom said, hoping he sounded casual as he wanted.

Edmund looked surprised, but shut the book he'd been reading. "Of course, Tom. Anything," he said with a smile.

"I was wondering...what sort of presents you might get for a girl?" Tom asked, feeling a flush threatening to climb up his neck. Salazar, he hoped Edmund couldn't see it in the low light.

"A girl?" Edmund asked, sounding utterly delighted. "Tom Riddle, have you been keeping a girl from us? Is that why you've been sneaking around all the time? Who is she?"

"Unimportant," Tom dismissed, hoping that they wouldn't linger on that for too long.

Edmund smirked. "Unimportant? The first witch to catch your eye, Tom? I highly doubt that," he said smoothly. "We will all want to know more about who she is."

"There isn't really anything to speak of about her at the moment," Tom lied through clenched teeth. It wasn't as if he wanted to _date_ Hermione, more just get her on his side so that he could extract every secret worth knowing out of her. He wanted to use her against Dumbledore and leave his fool Professor disgraced in the eyes of the Wizarding World. "Are you going to help me, or should I just ask Evan?"

That seemed to get his friend's attention. Even if Tom had sensed Edmund's annoyance at not being the de facto leader of the Knights of Walpurgis, he definitely still liked being relied on by Tom. He wasn't about to let his favored position go to someone like Evan Rosier.

"He wouldn't be able to help you anyway," Edmund said with a shrug. "What's the purpose of the gift?"

Tom thought about that for a moment. "It's an apology," he said. "I'm trying to smooth over some...hurt feelings."

He didn't think that Hermione would share his assessment of their last interaction as hurt feelings, but he didn't know how else to classify it in a way that Edmund would understand without giving away too much detail.

"Hm, well, I think that you can't go wrong with a hair ribbon," he answered, after thinking it over for a few seconds.

"A hair ribbon?" Tom asked, incredulously. "I don't think Her- I don't think _she_ would be impressed with something so simple."

Edmund rolled his eyes at Tom. "It can't just be _any_ piece of ribbon, of course," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It has to be something luxurious and fine. Something expensive, something that she will enjoy wearing. Something that when she sees will instantly remind her of you."

Tom fought a blush that Edumd thought he would just give his witch some utilitarian piece of fabric for a hair ribbon. It was no secret that Tom didn't come from means, even if he was from an important family like the Gaunts, who were the sole remaining heirs of Salazar Slytherin himself. Even if he might not have a lot of experience with girls didn't mean he was an idiot. He just had more important things to trouble himself with.

"Obviously," Tom answered, annoyed. "I just think that this witch in particular isn't going to be interested in fripperies. She's more serious...driven."

"Then she sounds _perfect_ for you," Edmund countered, though it was obvious that his mind was running through every witch at Hogwarts, trying to determine who fit the description. Tom was confident that Edmund would be left in the dark. Finally, Edmund shrugged his shoulders. "Well, take the advice or don't. But that's what _I_ would get a witch."

Feeling wholly uncertain, Tom thanked his friend. He supposed he didn't actually know much about Hermione at all, having only spoken to her twice. Maybe she would love a hair ribbon. It was at least worth a try.

* * *

After deciding to take Edmund's advice, Tom snuck off during the next Hogsmeade weekend to buy a hair ribbon for Hermione. The woman at the shop gave him a knowing look when he asked to see what she had to offer, but was annoyed when he waved her off. He didn't need any of her suggestions of frilly pink lace. He knew enough to know that Hermione wouldn't like _that_.

Finally, he settled on a dark blue satin piece that cost him eight sickles - an expense he honestly couldn't believe that he was indulging in. He shoved it into his pocket after giving the hair ribbon a stasis charm to prevent wrinkling and then met his friends at the Hog's Head to share butterbeers and laugh at the third years.

They'd invited Abraxas Malfoy this time, and the fifth year boy spent most of the afternoon boasting about his family fortune. It was tiring, but Tom knew that having the backing of someone as cash rich as Malfoy could only be a positive for his future plans. As much as he hated to admit it, he did need to rely on wealthy patrons, for now. And Abraxas was so eager to be liked and accepted, he would be the perfect one.

The hair ribbon was burning a hole in his pocket the whole afternoon, but Tom knew he could not slip away early, as it was his duty as Head Boy to chaperone the students. Only once he was certain that everyone was back from the village could he return to the castle.

It was dinner time when he finally got back, so he joined his friends at the Slytherin table for roast turkey and mash, before regretfully telling him he couldn't join them for smuggled firewhiskeys in their dorm, citing his need to complete rounds. Hogsmeade Saturdays always brought out the worst behavior, especially in the younger children.

Tom made a cursory sweep of the castle, starting in the dungeons and working his way up to the top floors. From there, he crept down into the Transfiguration corridor, and finding it empty, he snuck up the stairs to the Dark Tower. Placing his key into the lock, he opened the door.

Holding his breath, he waited for a book to come hurling his way again, but nothing ever came. The only thing that he could hear was the crackle and pop of the log in the fireplace. Stepping inside the room, Tom shut the door behind him and made his way to the center of the room.

He hadn't realized how late it was, but he could see a spectacular view of the Black Lake out the large windows, illuminated by the full moon. Turning, he found Hermione lounging on the bed. She was peering over the top of the book she'd been reading, expectantly. "Oh, it's just you," she said, sarcastically.

"Expecting someone else?" Tom quipped, wondering why the thought of that bothered him a bit. He didn't want anyone else to know about Hermione. He liked keeping her as his own little secret.

"Just Dumbledore," Hermione answered with a shrug of her shoulders. "Haven't seen him in a while." She sat up from her spot on the bed, before standing up.

Tom felt his mouth go dry at the sight. She was wrapped in a pale pink robe, but the sash was untied at the waist and revealed the pajamas she wore underneath. They were not overtly _sexy_ , but the slinky fabric seemed to cling to every curve and dip of her body. The shorts were much shorter than the school uniform, and showed off her pale thighs. He almost cursed the edge of the fabric for obstructing the view. And _Salazar_ , he was certain that he could see the faint points of her nipples straining beneath the top.

Clearing his throat, he looked away from Hermione, embarrassed with himself. His body was working against him, it seemed, as he could feel his cock stir in his trousers. Pushing down the unexpected surge of lust, Tom reminded himself that he just wanted to figure out what Hermione was hiding from him, and he had a plan to do it.

"What are you doing here, Tom?" she asked. "I thought I made it clear last time that I didn't want to see you anymore."

When he turned around, her hands were pressed to her hips, making her look exceedingly bossy. Her brown hair was as wild as ever, perhaps exacerbated by lying in bed, but it was her eyes that really caught him off guard.

Shoving his hand into his pocket, Tom fished out the hair ribbon. He held the navy blue satin out to her.

"What is this? A present?" she asked, sounding amused. But even so, she took the hair ribbon from him all the same, running her fingertips along the smooth fabric.

"A peace offering," Tom said, between gritted teeth. Even though he knew he was going to have to work hard to charm her, he didn't relish the idea of her thinking he was some kind of doddering suitor for her affections. He wanted her to like him, yes, but he didn't want to be made a fool of.

"It's very pretty," Hermione said, her face softening a bit, before that sharp edge that remained between them came back. "If you are trying to win me over, though, you would get a lot further with new books," she added with a smirk, before flouncing over to the settee and sitting down on it, completely uncaring that she was in a state of such undress.

Tom took the seat next to her's. "You seemed to be engrossed enough in whatever you were reading when I came in," he countered.

Hermione smiled, looking at him out the corner of her eye. " _Hogwarts, A History_ ," she quipped. "I could read that a thousand times and never get bored. Would you like tea? I could call for some."

"That's fine," Tom said, brushing off the offer, before thinking of the strangeness of her words. He wondered why she would get any particular joy out of reading that book. She wasn't a student while he was there, and she couldn't be older than he was. So what was the appeal? "A favorite of yours?"

"Oh yes, ever since I found out I was a witch, it has captured my imagination," Hermione said, before clamping her mouth shut tightly perhaps worried that she'd shared more than she had intended to.

To Tom's utter disappointment, her words didn't actually reveal anything new to him. He already knew that she was muggle born, so it was a given that she would have discovered she was a witch at some point. It still didn't reveal who she was or why she hadn't been at Hogwarts the past several years.

"I was the same," Tom said, quietly. "I grew up in an orphanage, and when I found out I was a wizard, I read anything I could about the school I was going to be attending." He wasn't entirely sure why he was sharing these intimate details with her - Salazar, his own friends didn't even know everything about Wool's. He supposed that Hermione, being trapped in the Tower as she was, had no one to go telling about him. His secrets would remain safe, and locked behind the door.

She pushed her hair out of her face and gave him a small smile. "You never know what sorts of fascinating details you will find in _Hogwarts, A History_ ," she said. "I've been reading about the Dark Tower lately. Did you know that it's always been used to hold prisoners? I can't imagine why a school would need a place for prisoners, but..."

"Things were different when the school was founded," Tom explained to her. "There wasn't a Ministry yet, and the school likely served to hold dangerous witches and wizards for the local area, until they could be moved somewhere more suitable."

"Still, it seems dangerous, being so near to the children..." she trailed off.

Tom wanted to roll his eyes at her, but held back. He was surprised that she was some kind of bleeding heart. "I'm sure the children are more of a danger to each other, than some random prisoner kept for a few weeks," he retorted, leaning back in the settee to get a better look at her. "The third year Hufflepuffs have discovered expanding charms."

"Oh, that's...not ideal," Hermione answered with a little giggle, as if she was remembering some mishap in her past.

He wanted to file that away, or ask her more about it, but he didn't want to make her so skittish. Part of him thought about using legilimency on her, but he knew he was still too clumsy at it and she would undoubtedly notice. While he didn't know Hermione well yet, he knew that most witches would see it as a violation.

She bit her lower lip. "Even if it _is_ my favorite book, I must admit that it's growing a bit stale," she revealed. "I'd be willing to read pretty much _anything_ at the moment. Maybe even _Witch Weekly_."

" _Witch Weekly?"_ Tom asked, having never heard of a book or more likely a publication like that.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Hermione said quickly, obviously eager to get off the topic. "It's just a periodical for witches. Recipes, tailoring charms. Nothing _you'd_ be interested in, I'm sure."

Tom could agree with that. Again, Hermione had let something slip, but he wasn't certain that it was anything of importance. She found traditional homemaking pursuits to be so boring that it was relegated to something she would only read if she was locked in a Tower for three or four months.

That alone was not incredibly surprising. He could tell that Hermione was anything _but_ traditional in just the brief interactions they'd had together so far.

"I could bring you some books," he offered, before he'd even realized it, but he was rewarded by a huge smile overtaking Hermione's face. "But, you'd have to be able to return them quickly, so I could bring them back to the library."

"Of course," she agreed, just excited to have something different to do than read the same books she'd had from the outset. "I'm sure I'll get through them very quickly. It's not as if I have anything else to do around here. Thank you."

Tom nodded, and stood up abruptly. Hermione's earnestness and gratitude was making him somewhat uncomfortable and suddenly he craved to put some space in between them. He needed to remember that he wasn't doing this to make Hermione happy, but rather to get Hermione to open up to him.

"I should be off," he told her, turning away from her and intent on marching right back out the door.

He caught her making a tiny noise of disappointment, before she jumped up from her seat as well, walking with him to the door. "You don't have to leave so soon, surely? You only just got here," she asked, obviously not wanting to be left alone with her own thoughts again.

"Sorry, I've got plans," Tom lied, as though he was planning on spending time with his friends anyways. "It's Saturday night, and I've got to meet some friends of mine."

"Oh," she whispered, sounding hurt.

"But I'll come back soon with books," he promised, hating how quickly he'd folded into abating her disappointment. He stepped through the door and shut it behind him, not giving the witch a second glance.

Salazar, he needed that drink.

* * *

Tom had quickly decided that if he was going to bring Hermione books, he was only going to bring her books that suited him for her to have. He was glad that being Head Boy afforded him free range of the Restricted Section of the library because he didn't like anything holding him back when it came to his reading material, especially when he was interested in magic that was seen as _dark_.

He found two books on wandless magic that he planned on bringing to her. If she was serious about getting free, he knew that she was going to need to be able to learn magic without a wand. Then, he found another book on warding. He'd noted that Dumbledore had put up some kind of ward that prevented Hermione from just walking out of the room, but he hadn't investigated it anymore. Hopefully, that would give her the tools to get out if she wanted, but hopefully not before telling him what her secrets were.

Additionally, he decided he'd bring her a couple books on dark magic. After all, she promised that she'd read _anything_ at that point, and he wanted to test her convictions on that. In the current political climate, it seemed like everyone was trying to distance themselves from the likes of Grindelwald and that included any hint of dark magic.

He grabbed a primer on arcane dark magic (a favorite of Alfie's), a more detailed compendium on blood curses and multi-generational hexes, and finally one of his favorites on repository objects and their use in magic. It was really quite rare magic and quite specific. It was actually where he'd gotten his first hint at the existence of horcruxes.

Overall, Tom was confident that it was a well diversified group of books that he hoped Hermione would be delighted with.

Once they were all accrued, Tom slipped them in the bag. He planned on slipping off to the Tower before Transfiguration, knowing that Dumbledore would be occupied with his prior class. Climbing the now familiar set of stairs, Tom quickly opened the door.

"Hermione?" he called out. "I've got something for you."

She immediately appeared out from behind the divider. Her long hair was piled up on top of his head and he thought he stumbled on her readying herself to take a bath. "What is it?" she asked.

Tom held out the towering pile of books to her, and drank in her expression eagerly. Of course, she had been expecting books, but the look on her face when she actually hand them in her hands was more than he was expecting. How was she so happy about something as simple as a couple of books.

"Oh, Tom, I could kiss you!" she said with a huge grin on her face.

Unbidden, his eyes dropped to her lips, pink and perfect. He felt his heart lurch in his chest, and for once he was thankful that he had Transfiguration to get to.

"I can't stay, I've got class," he told her, before she could try to invite him in. He couldn't imagine that she was serious about kissing him, but he didn't have the courage to find out if it was true.

"Oh," she said, disappointed, her eyebrows furrowed together. "Of course. Your studies are very important."

He nodded. "But, I'll be back in a few days. I'll need to pick up the books, anyway," he said, wanting to make her happy again. "So, you'll need to read quickly."

"I'm sure I'll have these done in a day," Hermione teased, her nose scrunched in delight. "I was never good at savoring books."

"Still, I'll give you a few days," he reiterated, teasing her a bit.

Tom was taken aback by how quickly Hermione was pulling him in. He'd promised himself that this would be a quick visit, but he found himself wanting to skive off class for the first time ever, and hole up in the tower with her for the afternoon. As much as he wanted that, though, he knew that he couldn't stay. It would raise too many questions with Dumbledore.

Giving Hermione a quick wave goodbye, Tom shut the door behind him before locking it once again. He hurried down the steps, eager to get in his seat. He was happy to note that he wasn't the last student to arrive, even if most of his classmates were already there.

"You alright, Tom?" Edmund asked, turning around from his seat in front of Tom. "You look flushed."

Knowing that he was still red from imagining Hermione kissing him, Tom waved off his friend. "Yeah, I forgot my textbook in the Common Room and I had to go back to get it," he lied. "Even with all the shortcuts I know, it's still a bit of a trek."

Edmund rolled his eyes and turned back to face the front of the class. "Maybe you should join us for Quidditch this weekend," he snarked, poking at Tom's supposed lack of fitness.

As much as Tom wanted to snap at the arrogant wizard, he bit his tongue. Why should he care if Edmund Lestrange thought he needed more exercise, if it meant keeping Hermione to himself a while longer?


	5. December 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am so pleased with the response to Tom's characterization here. He has been a lot of fun to explore. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of chapter five and be on the lookout for chapter six next week!

**December 1944**

True to his word, Tom returned to the room a week later to collect the books that he'd brought Hermione. Under his arm was a new stack of books to hopefully make up for the necessity of prying the old books out of her hands. He'd brought another variety of books on warding, blood magic, herbology, and one of his favorites by Nicolas Flamel, discussing the philosopher's stone which was believed to be legendary.

When he entered the room, he was pleased to note that it was the first time Hermione appeared to be happy to see him. "Good evening, Tom," she called out to him from her spot, curled up on the settee by the fireplace, tucked under a massive blanket.

Looking out the window, he could see the big snowflakes that cascaded down, ready to blanket the school grounds in the first snow of the winter that would stick around. Even though he could tell how cold it was outside, the Tower remained surprisingly warm and cozy for what was once a prison. It was almost a little bit domestic, he thought, coming to visit her.

"Good evening, Hermione," he returned in kind, before crossing the room to join her on the settee. "Did you finish the books that I brought you last time?"

She looked over the top of the book that was balanced in her lap at him, before rolling her eyes. "I didn't even last two days," she said with a smirk. "But, I think we should talk about your selection."

"What was wrong with the books I picked out?" he asked, feeling a little bit on edge.

"Don't play dumb, Tom," she said, shaking her head at him. "Your little good boy act isn't going to work on me. They were nearly exclusively dark magic!"

He was surprised to hear that was the objection she had found about them. "You should limit yourself in the types of magic you are willing to learn about, Hermione," he lectured her. "Just because something has been labeled dark doesn't mean that it exclusively harms people. It's been decided that it's dark magic - by whom?" he asked, getting a little heated.

"Tom, one of these books was on multi-generational curses," Hermione countered with a snort. "If that isn't expressly to _hurt_ someone, I don't know what is. When was the last time that you heard of someone being cursed and it was a _good_ thing."

Tom flushed, thinking that she was probably right this time. He couldn't argue his way out of that one. "I just find it interesting. There is nothing in there that I would actually use. It's all too arcane," he said, flippantly. "Besides, you told me you were bored enough to read anything. I wanted to see if it was true."

He watched as Hermione bit her lip. "I guess I can't pretend that it wasn't fascinating," she said with a guilty look on her face, as though she didn't want to admit it. "I never knew curses could be used that way. The genetic implications are quite vast."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, not really understanding what she was suggesting.

"Well, it would be a good way to determine if someone was related to someone else, wouldn't it?" she explained. "It's not as though you could lie your way out of a blood curse. Either you are related to someone or you aren't."

"I've never thought of it that way," he said, thinking that she was really quite brilliant. Of course, purebloods had been lying about their bastards for centuries, but a blood curse would certainly take the guesswork out of it.

"I was wondering though, how far reaching it could be," she said leaning back even deeper into the settee, pulling her blanket with her, and revealing her socked toes. "I mean...some people in the wizarding world have such tangled family trees. If the curse was powerful enough, would it connect the Malfoys and the Weasleys through the Blacks?" she wondered out loud.

"Very interesting question," Tom agreed, pleasantly pleased with the direction of the discussion. It was nice to have someone (well, someone outside of Alfie that was) who took such an academic interest in these sorts of topics. "But the Blacks don't link the Weasleys and the Malfoys."

Immediately, she sucked in her breath, looking like she'd revealed something she wasn't meant to. Was it possible that she wasn't the mere mudblood she'd professed to be when she first talked to him? Was she some bastard of the Black or Malfoy family? He didn't see anything of either house in her, but you could always be surprised, he knew.

"I must have my Ancient and Noble Houses mixed up then," she said, waving her hand. "It's a lot to remember when you weren't born into this society."

On that front, he could agree with her, even though he would never reveal how tiring he found all the pomp of his Slytherin compatriots. Yes, who you were related to was important, but only if you were from a _truly_ important family. Like Slytherin. He didn't care who Avery's third great-grandfather on his mother's side was.

"If you found the books that I brought too dark to read last time, then you are certain to hate the collection I brought you this time," he said slyly, bringing attention to the new pile that he kept on his lap.

Hermione squealed and surged forward, snatching the top book out of his hands before he could even register what was happening. "This one is herbology. Nothing too dark in here, I reckon," she answered.

He couldn't stop the indulgent smile he wore. "It's specific to herbs and plants that are used in poisons," he told her with a shrug. "What can I say? I hoped that it was something you hadn't read before."

"You've got me there," she agreed, before holding her hand out like a greedy child. "Now what else have you got for me?"

Tom relinquished the pile and watched her sort through the books.

"More blood magic, a bit of alchemy," she said, setting the books in a neat pile beside her. "And more warding." He watched as she pursed her lips in confusion, but didn't say more.

"I figured the warding was the most practical for you, seeing as Dumbledore must be using it to keep you in here," he said, finally. He needed her to believe that he was invested in getting her out, so she would trust him and open up to him more. Salazar, he supposed he didn't _care_ if she did get out — only once she'd shared her secrets with him. "I've never seen one repel someone like when you tried to walk out the door. Perhaps we could do some testing sometime."

She bit her lower lip. "Yes, I'm sure he's put up all manner of safeguards to keep me in here," she said, sounding sad. "It must be attuned to me alone, since you are able to pass back and forth."

"I don't know a terrible lot about warding, but I'm sure you'll become an expert in it, with you having so much time to study it here," Tom said, knowing it was an area of magic he was deficient in. He'd love to learn more about it, but he was already far too busy with other commitments and there were only so many hours in the day.

"It's all a bit useless if I don't have my wand though," she said, looking utterly dejected, before she quickly perked up. "Perhaps I could borrow _your_ wand some—"

"But don't you see?" he said, wanting to cut _that_ line of thinking off as quickly as possible. "That's why I gave you the books on wandless magic. So you wouldn't have to rely on a wand for your magic."

"I suppose so. But-"

"Who knows when Dumbledore might come back? I'm sorry but I couldn't just leave my wand with you the whole time," he said smoothly. "Perhaps you can catch him unaware with some wandless magic the next time he comes in. Can you imagine the look on his face?"

She chuckled, her brown eyes lighting up with a certain deviousness that he wasn't expecting. "Yes...I can just imagine how he'd look when he realized he couldn't take anything away from me to prevent me from using magic," she agreed. "Then I wouldn't be so helpless."

"How are you finding it?" he asked, gently. "Have you managed any spells yet?"

Hermione looked down at her hands in her lap, as though she was ashamed. "I haven't been able to yet," she revealed. "It's so frustrating. I've always been able to get a handle of spells and things nearly the first time I try them. I don't know why I can't get this."

"It takes practice," Tom said encouragingly, very curious to see if she'd be able to manage to teach herself wandless magic. It was incredibly difficult and some witches and wizards just didn't have the capacity for it. But, he thought Hermione might be capable.

"All I've done is practice!" she countered, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'm stuck here with absolutely nothing to do."

"Still, Hermione, it's only been a week," he answered. "Please don't be such a defeatist, or I won't want to help you."

At his words, her eyes darted to his face, giving him a curious sort of look - almost like she couldn't quite believe that he was actually willing to help her. He felt exposed, as if she could see the _real_ him hidden beneath the surface.

"Are you able to do wandless magic, Tom?" she asked eventually, cautiously.

The Head Boy nodded. "Yes, it's taken me a long time, but I can do a lot of basic spells. Levitating small objects, basic transfigurations, the like," he explained, feeling pride fill his body at his accomplishment. He wondered if Hermione was truly impressed with him. "Here. _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," he said clearly, before levitating a book into Hermione's waiting hands.

"Wow," Hermione said once the book was safely in her hands. "At least now I've seen it is possible."

Tom chuckled, glad that she seemed suitably impressed. Then, he could keep the hints of inadequacy from seeping in. "Just give it a little bit of practice, and time. I'm sure the next time I'm here, you'll be able to do it on your own," he promised, hoping that she would actually rise to the challenge.

"Oh, must you leave so soon, Tom?" she asked, sounding like a spoiled little child. "You are always so quick to leave."

"Yes, it's late," he told her, regretfully. Part of him wished that he could just stay overnight...spend a whole weekend with the interesting witch, chipping away at her reservations about opening up to him. "And, while I am Head Boy, there are limits to how late I can be out after curfew. But, it's nearly Yule, so I am sure that we will have lots of time to spend together then."

"Won't you be going home?" Hermione questioned.

Tom had to hold himself back before he could snap at her that he was nothing more than a discarded orphan with no place to call his home, except for Hogwarts. He was certain that she hadn't meant to twist the knife. "No, I'll remain behind, but all of my friends will be heading home to their manors," he said, hoping she couldn't sense how bitter he was. "So I will have no one else to entertain me except for you."

She scrunched her nose. "Lucky me," she deadpanned, joking with him.

At least, he hoped it was a joke.

* * *

The evening before the Hogwarts Express was due to return to London for Yule break, the Knights of Walpurgis held a meeting well after everyone else had gone to bed in the seventh year boys' dorms.

Seeing that Abraxas Malfoy and his friend Neville Selwyn had completed all the various hazing pranks that the older boys (mainly Gus and Louis) had planned over the term, they decided that it was finally time to initiate them officially into the Knights of Walpurgis. Their compatriot, Graeme Greengrass, had not taken the hazing seriously enough, so he did not receive the same honor.

They shared some firewhiskey before branding the two boys on the inside of the left bicep with the image of a small flame, symbolic of the massive bonfires that burned on Walpurgis Night. It was quite painful, but seeing as all the seventh years had already gotten their own brand, they knew it was manageable.

The rest of the evening was spent drinking and talking about rumors of Grindelwald. It was an open secret that Dumbledore had left the castle already, and wouldn't be returning at the start of term because he had business to attend to. Everyone seemed to assume that meant tracking down the dark wizard.

When he caught Edmund's devious smile, he should have known that the wizard was going to stir the pot. "How did your present go over with your witch, Tom?" he asked, not bothering to try and sound innocent. "Did she like the hair ribbon?"

"Tom Riddle? A witch?" Evan asked with a laugh. "That's something I never thought I'd hear."

He felt his cheeks flush immediately, and hoped no one would notice in the dark light. This was exactly why he didn't like sharing personal tidbits with his friends. They always seemed to have _opinions_.

"Oh, say it isn't true, Tom," Alfie practically begged. "Here I'd hoped you were the only reasonable one left that I could count on. Don't say you are as witch crazy as the rest of them."

"Why?" Gus teased the other wizard. "Did you want Tom to join you in your life of perpetual bachelorhood?"

"Of course not!" Alfie answered, throwing a pillow at Gus's face without much aim. "I just thought that Tom was more serious than that."

"I'm not witch crazy," Tom insisted, knowing that he needed to get a handle on this quickly. And he needed to show Edmund that he wasn't going to be cowed around or embarrassed. "I only asked Edmund's advice to try and charm a particularly stubborn witch. And in any case, Edmund, your advice wasn't any good. She prefers books."

The Lestrange heir did look suitably annoyed that his attempts to embarrass Tom had backfired, as now all the attention was on him. Tom smirked when the rest of the boys began teasing Edmund about his overinflated impression of his skills in getting witches. It was nice to see him taken down a peg.

"Well, I still think she sounds perfect for you, then, Tom," he said with a smile that didn't meet his eyes. "More interested in practicalities than life's luxuries."

Tom soured at the dig at his financial status and decided then and there that he was going to need to do something about Edmund. He'd gotten too smart of his own good.

The whole group devolved into separate discussions then, and Tom was glad not to have the focus on Hermione any longer. Just as Abraxas and Neville were set to return to their own dorm, Abraxas pulled him aside to hand him a bottle tied with a golden bow. Tom looked at the label and saw that it was a very expensive bottle of elf made champagne.

"It's from my family's winery in France," he said casually - the way only someone supremely wealthy could sound. "Maybe you can share it with your witch. I'm sure she'd be more impressed with this than whatever paltry present Edmund suggested," he added with a roll of his eyes.

Unsure of what to say, Tom accepted the bottle, and wondered if Hermione would enjoy it. He was keen to find out. "Thank you, Abraxas," he answered with a smile, knowing that he needed this _partnership_ to flourish if he wanted his plans to go right when he left school.

"Oh, and if she likes books, you might try getting her a diary," Abraxas suggested. "My mother is constantly filling up her diary with all manner of tedious details, but I think witches enjoy it."

Tom paused at the idea and thought that it might be a good option if he needed to smooth something over with her in the future. He was sure that it would be helpful for her to keep track of her thoughts while she was confined in the Tower. "I might just take that advice," he told the younger blond, knowing that he'd have to think of some sort of reward for him.

"Happy Yule, Tom," Abraxas said with a nod, before ducking down the stairs.

Perhaps he wasn't such a pretentious, spoiled wizard after all, Tom thought to himself. It seemed Abraxas had a very good handle on how things were supposed to work around here.

* * *

The following day, the rest of the castle had practically emptied out, leaving behind only a few select students. Almost none of them were in Slytherin, so Tom knew that extended absences wouldn't be noted, especially not by Slughorn, who seemed to spend all of Yule breaks pickling in spiced brandies.

Instead, he was eager to return to the Tower, and did so at the first opportunity after dinner one evening.

When he got there, he was pleased to note that Hermione was wearing the navy ribbon, entwined with her wavy, brown hair. Even though she had initially scoffed at his gift, it seemed that she had warmed to it. He was even more delighted when he realized that she had worn it when she wasn't expecting him - so she wore it because she liked it, not just to please him. She was dressed in green, festive robes. It was the first time he'd seen her in the colors of his house, but he thought that it was certainly her color. He briefly wondered which house she would be in if she had been at Hogwarts, but he knew that it would not be Slytherin. His house did not take mudbloods, even exceptional ones like her.

He paused at the thought. Would he really find Hermione so exceptional if she wasn't being held prisoner in the Dark Tower? If she was just a random witch he bumped into at the Leaky Cauldron? He wasn't sure, but it was a thought to ponder later, he was certain.

"Happy Yule, Hermione," he said, holding out the champagne bottle. He hadn't removed the gold bow that Abraxas had affixed to it, and he wondered if he could pass it off as something he'd bought for her.

"Happy Yule, Tom," she answered with a huff, and none of the cheer that he'd come to expect when he visited with her.

"You don't seem very happy to see me," he said, feeling annoyed. Tom, whether he wanted to admit it or not, had really been looking forward to this little evening in with Hermione, and he was quickly faced with the idea that it might not be all that he'd dreamed of.

"It's not that," she tried to reassure him, before nervously looking over his shoulder. "It's just that I'm worried that Dumbledore will pop in at any moment. I'd hate to think about what he'd do if he found you here. I haven't told him about you."

Tom preened at the idea that Hermione was _worried_ about him. That she _cared_ about him. "You don't need to worry about that," he promised her.

"I know that you think you know everything, Tom, but he hasn't been by in two weeks, and that's the longest he's left me alone in here," Hermione said again. "I just know he is going to pop up when I least expect it."

"I didn't mean that I wouldn't face any difficulties," Tom said. He certainly had a healthy self-esteem when it came to his magical abilities, but even he knew that Dumbledore would be a formidable opponent, especially at school. "I meant that you don't have to worry about Dumbledore popping up. He's away traveling and he won't be back until the New Year."

Hermione immediately pressed her hands to the sides of her head and gave a little scream of frustration. "That man!" she cried out. "Oh, he is _always_ doing this!"

Tom was intrigued by the little hint of the relationship she shared with Dumbledore. He hadn't given much thought to how his hated Professor and this slip of a witch _knew_ each other, but it seemed that maybe their relationship went back farther than he imagined. "What do you mean?" he asked, hoping to sound the perfect balance of casual and disinterested.

"Oh!" Hermione said, seeming to realize that he was in the room again. "I just mean...he leaves me alone for days on end without telling me when he's going to be back. It's one thing to hold me as a prisoner here, but it's an entirely other thing to just _abandon_ me here to rot, without a care to my psyche."

"Good thing you have me to check on you then," Tom said, closing the gap between them and putting his hand on her arm, in what was meant to be a reassuring squeeze. Instead, he felt a zing of electricity in his fingertips when he touched her cashmere soft skin.

Hermione seemed surprised as well, and looked up at him, plump lips perfectly parted. "Yes," she said, equal parts breathless and perplexed. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Tom," she whispered, almost as though she couldn't believe she was saying the words.

Tom felt his heart stutter step at the thought of Hermione being so needy for him. She was falling right into his hands, just as he'd wanted. And if he liked the idea of it a little more than he expected, well, it wasn't as if he was in love with the witch.

"Enough talk of Dumbledore," he said, before holding up the bottle again and pressing it into her hands. "I've brought drinks. Let's celebrate the holiday with one another."

"It feels hard to celebrate when I'm trapped in here," Hermione said, gesturing to her lavish prison. It seemed that the house elves had not spared decorating in here, and even placed a large Christmas tree that matched the one in the Great Hall next to the grand fireplace. "But at least when you are here, I can forget about that for a few hours."

"At least over the next week I don't have to run away at a moment's notice," Tom said with an easy grin. "I could probably move in here and no one would notice I'm gone."

He watched with bated breath as she paused for a moment, thinking it over. "Well, you are welcome to take the couch if you want, but I'm sure your own bed would be far more comfortable," she said.

Not the enthusiastic invitation to stay that he wanted.

Hermione busied herself walking around the room, collecting a teacup on her nightstand and another on the coffee table in front of the settee. "I want to show you something," she said, with delight bubbling in her eyes, before patting on the cushion next to her for him to join.

Once he was sat down, her face was transformed by deep concentration, her brows furrowed and mouth held in a tight line. On the table in front of her, the two white teacups began to lighten in color, until they were replaced with clear glass. The handle unwound and sprouted, leaving each cup with the stem to hold it by. In a moment, the two teacups had been transfigured into a pair of elegant coupe glasses to drink their champagne.

Tom was nearly stunned speechless to see how far she had come in her wandless magic in just a few days' time. He felt the creep of jealousy up the back of his throat threatening to spill out of his mouth, wanting to tear down her brilliant accomplishment. Hermione was a _remarkable_ witch, far more powerful than he'd imagined to have figured this out all on her own. Maybe there was more of a reason for Dumbledore to lock her up in here than he'd thought. She could be very _dangerous_ if she fell into the wrong hands.

"Well?" she asked, expectantly, waving her hands at her hard work.

"This _certainly_ calls for a bit of celebration, Hermione," he told her indulgently, before fiddling with the foil on the top of the bottle, hoping to give himself a little more time to formulate an appropriately fawning response. The cork came free with a pop, and Tom poured them each a generous glass. "We will make you a mistress of wandless magic yet."

Hermione took a large sip of the champagne, a pleased noise escaping her when the bubbles hit her tongue. "You are much more difficult to impress than my friends, Tom," she said with a smirk. "Normally, they would be falling over themselves to say how brilliant I am. _Brightest witch of your age, Hermione_."

"Brightest witch of your age?" Tom asked, cocking his head to the side. That title was certainly not something that she'd intended to share. "And yet, I've never heard of you before. How is that?"

She blushed. "Oh, it's just an endearment and not an official designation, I promise," she said. Another lie, another to add the pile she'd already given him. "I promise I'm no one."

"I highly doubt that," Tom answered, unable to tear his eyes from her. She was captivating. Certainly, Hermione was not the prettiest witch he'd ever encountered, but seeing her flushed from the champagne and full of pride for her accomplishments made her light up in a way that would be burned into his memory for years to come. "You don't have to hide from me. You can trust me."

Hermione looked like she wanted to say something more to him but stumbled over her words. She was still holding back. "I _want_ to, Tom, it's just..." she trailed off. "I trusted Dumbledore and I ended up locked up in this tower," she finished, sounding defeated.

Despite wanting to push her further, Tom knew it wasn't a good idea. He ran the risk of angering her once again, undoing all of his hard work of befriending her. "Well, now that you've begun understanding wandless magic, we will be able to start working on the unusual warding Dumbledore has put on the room," he offered her as consolation.

She brightened up at the suggestion. "Exactly," she told him proudly. "But maybe we won't worry about it tonight. Let's just celebrate."

Hermione had finished her first glass of champagne and they quickly poured seconds. Even though Tom was used to drinking, Abraxas had given them a really lovely vintage, and he could already feel the bubbles softening his hard edges, leaving him feeling warm and relaxed. Before long, he was certain that he was even a bit tipsy. Looking at his companion, it seemed that Hermione felt the same. She was flushed pink and smiling - a warm, _real_ smile. She toyed with the edge of her blouse, her large brown eyes frequently staring into the flicks and leaps of the fire.

They spent the evening talking about Christmases past. Well - Hermione did most of the talking. Her lips sufficiently loosened by the alcohol, she happily told him about times spent with her parents when she was a child and all the silly muggle traditions that her family kept. It was the sunny sort of childhood that all the orphans at Wool's would have dreamed to have.

Later, she talked about returning from school and missing her friends over the holiday break. Her school sounded oddly like Hogwarts, but a Hogwarts that Tom was completely unfamiliar with. She had spent one Christmas with her friend's family when his father had been very sick, but she revealed she never quite felt welcomed. Like an outsider, stuck on the periphery by some unseen barrier.

Tom hated that he understood exactly what she meant.

He was fascinated by her. Tom was struck by the thought that he could listen to her talking about these saccharinely happy memories all night, so long as it was her voice. Normally, he'd secretly despise someone's joy, while plastering on his most charming smile, so they wouldn't be the wiser. But not with Hermione.

Eventually Hermione seemed to realize that Tom was sitting there silent. He reminded her again of his unhappy childhood and lonely Christmases at Hogwarts, but she wasn't going to let him throw a pity party for himself. "Well, you will be leaving school soon enough, Tom," she told him, her body leaning towards him. "What will you do for Christmas next year?"

He sat there silently, pondering her question. If he was honest, this was the best Christmas he'd ever spent yet. "Well, I'll have a place of my own, I suppose," he said after a moment. "I'm not much for decorating, though."

"Oh, but you'll have a tree, won't you, Tom?" she asked, interrupting him. "A tree is basically required."

"A rather _bossy_ witch has made me get a tree, so I will have a tree next to my mantle," he answered. A scene, not unlike the one he was currently in appeared in his mind again. Curled up on a couch, Tom would sit in front of the fire reading with Hermione, drinking champagne until they were drunk and stumbled into bed together. "There's not many presents. People never know what to get me."

"Lots of books, I hope."

" _Lots_ of books under the tree," he agreed, feeling his eyes droop closed. "Maybe more champagne and chocolates from Abraxas. I'll come home from celebrations at Evan's or Edmund's or _someone's_ house - turkey dinner, mash and gravy, the whole lot. And I'll sit in front of the fire reading until the last embers die out."

Hermione let out a big sigh.

Tom turned to look at her. With her eyes barely open and her head resting on the back of the settee, he could see she was quickly falling asleep too.

"That sounds lovely," she said with a smile.

Tom made a small noise of agreement. It was the first time that he'd allowed himself to imagine a simple life, instead of his exacting plans for achieving his goals. If he wanted to run the wizarding world by the time he was thirty, he needed everything to go just as he'd decided it would. And that certainly didn't leave him time for Christmases with wavy haired, bossy witches.

But it did sound lovely.

He just wasn't sure if it should bother him.


	6. January 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am nervous but excited about this chapter so I can't wait to hear what you think. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of chapter six and be on the lookout for chapter seven next week!

**January 1945**

For once, Tom found himself annoyed with the return of classes. He had been rather enjoying spending his time with Hermione, holed up in the Tower together. On Christmas Eve, he had fallen asleep on the couch with her, but he hadn't repeated the mistake again, even if the idea was achingly appealing.

They'd spent Christmas morning staring out the massive window and the fresh blanket of snow while Hermione told him about a memory of a snowball fight. Tom couldn't remember a time when he'd ever done something like that, but he could understand how Hermione might miss the feeling of the crisp air on her face.

Normally, he dreaded celebrating his birthday as it reminded him of the passage of another year. But when New Years Eve rolled around, he told her it was his eighteenth birthday and she made the day feel special for once. He smuggled in some firewhiskey and delighted in watching her sputter and cough after one sip of the strong alcohol.

As the New Year dawned, Tom was reminded that classes would resume soon, and he wouldn't have so much free time. Really, he should have spent more time revising over the break.

But, he still had one more day before his classmates (and presumably Dumbledore) would return. Tom intended to spend the entire day with Hermione, sneaking away sometime after breakfast, with a new pile of books under his arm. With a spring in his step, Tom made his way up to the Tower, looking forward to seeing his mysterious witch.

Opening the door, Tom felt himself warm when he saw that she was waiting for him, a tea set neatly arranged on the coffee table in front of the settee, despite having mismatched cups.

She must have seen his eyes lingering because she flushed pink at the presumed inadequacy. "I hope you don't mind, but it's the only way that I can have a complete set," she explained. "I don't let the house elf take my leftover cups. She thinks I'm terribly messy, but after enough arguments she's stopped questioning me. I _did_ clean them."

Oddly, Tom had absolutely no qualms about sharing a cup with Hermione. "Of course I don't mind," he said, smoothly, before taking his now customary seat next to her.

The fire, necessary to heat the large room, looked as if it had been freshly stoked, and Tom was grateful for it, as Hogwarts was in the midst of a cold snap. Despite the Tower's old construction that did little to quell the drafts, it was still much cozier than he'd found Slytherin house that same morning.

"I've brought you more books than usual, because this will be our last day of break together," he explained. She cocked her head to the side, and he wondered briefly if she didn't believe that his sadness was genuine. "Students return tomorrow, and I am sure that my time will be much more limited."

"I'll miss your companionship, Tom," she said with a sad smile on her face. "But I'm sure you'll visit me when you can. And I suppose that means Dumbledore will be returning soon."

"Yes, I suppose so," Tom agreed, thinking that Hogwarts really would have been much better off without his Transfiguration professor.

She looked contrite. "I'd hoped to make more progress on the warding while he was gone," she said. "I'm afraid you've distracted me too much."

Tom wasn't sure if she was teasing him, but it was much too easy to get lost in conversation with Hermione when they were meant to be working with one another. He wouldn't stand for it if she was going to hold it against him. "Well, I've brought you several more books on warding, including the three that you've asked for," he explained.

He didn't like taking Hermione's orders for books, preferring to curate a list of books that he wanted her to read instead. In some ways, he felt not unlike a professor, teaching his apt and eager pupil, guiding her in a quest to discover magic on her own. He delighted in seeing her come to the conclusions _he_ wanted her to, and he wasn't about to give that up.

"Well, are you going to give them to me or what?" Hermione asked, holding out her arms. Any new stimulus would have to do for her when she was trapped like she was.

Passing the books over, Tom drank in each of her expressions as she read over the titles. To his dismay, it looked as though she was more disappointed as she went on. She set them aside on the coffee table. "What do you want to talk about today?" she asked, plastering a smile - one he instantly recognized as fake - on her face.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, feeling his ire raise in his chest. "Don't you like the books?"

"The books are lovely, Tom," she tried to placate him.

Another lie.

He stood from his spot. "No, tell me - what's wrong with the books?" he snarled. "What's wrong with me that you won't open up to me? I've been _helping_ you for weeks and weeks now, and you still won't let me in on what's going on in that head of yours!"

Tom raged inside, but he knew he couldn't let her see that side of him, lest it scare her away from him after all the hard work he'd put into cultivating her. "Tell me!" he shouted.

Hermione flinched at the tone of his voice, before setting her shoulders and standing up to look him in the eye. "You really want to know what's wrong with the books?" she asked, as vexed as he was.

"Yes!"

"Nearly every book that you bring me is dark magic, Tom," she answered. "I'm not a dark witch and I don't enjoy thinking about entrail expelling curses or Herpo the Foul or blood magic." She paced around the room like a caged panther, lithe and quick to jump. "And being with you...talking to you makes me rationalize it."

"I don't understand," he said, feeling utterly confused.

"Talking with you about dark magic, about hypothetical scenarios for intergenerational curses...it desensitizes me to the idea of dark magic," she said. He could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes, as though she were really broken up about the topic. She was warring with herself. She turned away from him, unable to hold his gaze a second longer. "It makes me feel like it's not as _evil_ as it really is."

Tom found himself rolling his eyes at how fragile he was. "Maybe it's because it's not as evil as you seem to think it is," he countered.

Hermione spun on her heel to gape at him in disbelief. "Are you listening to yourself?" she questioned. "Some of the things in those books are so _foul_...I feel like my skin is crawling even an hour after I've finished it."

"You are being overly moralistic," he argued, annoyed to be having this conversation. "Surely, there were plenty of things in those books that _didn't_ make your skin crawl. Magic that has no business being labeled as dark." Tom knew that even with his questionable set of morals, there were plenty of kinds of magic described that were harmless.

"Yes, but-"

"I had hoped by this point you would be intelligent enough to recognize that there is no such thing as dark or light magic," he said, looking down on her. "There is just magic, _power_. And if you aren't willing to grab hold of all the power you can, you better be prepared to be crushed by those who will."

Hermione made an odd sort of choking sound, as though she were trying not to sob. "It's not _right_ , Tom," she said.

"I think you've already learned that lesson, though, didn't you Hermione?" he continued on his diatribe. "Hm? You trusted Dumbledore - widely regarded as a _good_ , light wizard - and how did he repay you? He locked you away in a tower," he goaded her, spreading his arms wide to show off her gilded cage. "That doesn't sound _right_ to me. Does it to you, Hermione?"

"Don't," she begged, not wanting to face the lesson he'd been trying to tell her all along.

"I think you've already figured out that if you play by the rules you'll be used," he said, cocking his head to the side, trying to read into her more. "How could you not? You're a muggleborn. You know you have to cease every inch of power, steal it away from some pureblood who thinks they deserve it because of who they were born."

Hermione appeared to be steeling herself, his words a hard wake up call, but an awakening nonetheless.

"And I think you've realized at this point that if you are going to get out of this tower, you are going to have to claw your way out," Tom continued. " _Any_ way that you can, even if that means using dark magic. So _forgive me_ for trying to prepare you with all the books you might need."

She was silent still, just staring at him looking utterly heartbroken.

Tom didn't like the look, and he couldn't stand another minute in the suffocating Tower. He couldn't stand it when she looked at him like that. "If you don't want my help, I will stop bringing your books," he said with finality. He turned to walk away from her, wanting to leave her alone with her pity.

 _Finally_ , Hermione spoke. "No, please don't, Tom," she said, running after him, hoping to cut him off. "Please don't go."

But he was already out the door, too furious to stay. If he did, he might say something that he couldn't take back.

* * *

The next day the students returned to the castle. Tom was glad for the distraction of his Slytherin pals coming back, if it meant that he didn't think of Hermione quite so often. While he saw his roommates multiple times in classes and at dinner, he called a meeting of the Knights of Walpurgis over the weekend.

With everyone assembled in the seventh year boys' dorm, Tom sat back and watched as all his friends eagerly discussed their holidays abroad and at home. Evan and Louis had each gone to the Alps, as was typical of their families. Edmund returned to France with his father to stay with his horrid family there and eagerly talked about the witch that he was now betrothed to. Alfie, Gus, Abraxas and Neville had each remained at home, although their families were spread far and wide over the British Isles.

First order of business was to discuss Graeme Greengrass, who now wished to become a Knight again. Apparently, being kept out of Abraxas and Neville's new secrets had the fifth year feeling a certain type of way. He had sent a message via the two fifth years that he would take it very seriously _this time_.

"Well, I say piss on Greengrass," Edmund pronounced with a lazy indifference. "Who's to say that he'd take it seriously again?"

"Agreed," Gus said. "I didn't even go _that_ hard on him during the hazing."

"What do you think Tom?" Alfie asked, out of deference to their de facto leader.

"I think we should listen to what Abraxas and Neville think," Tom said, giving the two youngest members a grin.

Edmund laughed bitterly. "Why should we care what they think?" he demanded. "They are his friends, of course they are going to say we should give him another chance."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Sometimes, Edmund, you can be so short-sighted," he said with a sneer. He had not forgotten Lestrange's subtle digs and pokes at Tom, and he was determined to put him in his place. Belittling him would do wonders. "We are going to be leaving this school in just a few short months. Do you want to just let all of our hard work over the last four years go to waste?"

"No," Edmund said, his eyes dropping to his knees.

"So, then we need to ensure that the Knights we leave behind are able to make decisions without us, don't we?" Tom questioned, as though he were talking to a small child. "Neville and Abraxas won't be able to look to us once we are gone, so why don't we give them a chance to spread their wings while we are still here, ready to make corrections if necessary?"

"That's an excellent idea, Tom," Evan agreed heartily. "I don't want the Knights to fall apart without us."

Neville was obviously keen to stay in the good graces of the older members. "I'm not really sure if Graeme wants it enough," he quickly said. "He's never too serious."

Abraxas on the other hand was more measured. "I agree with you there, Nev, but Graeme has become much more serious this year now that our OWLs are approaching," he reasoned. "I've seen a real change in him. I think we could give him another chance, so long as he knows it's his _final_ chance. I don't think he will disappoint."

"We aren't exactly known for giving second chances," Tom said cautiously, not wanting to seem like he was agreeing with Abraxas too quickly.

"Yes, but I think this could be a good exception," Abraxas explained further. "Graeme is really sore on being left out, I think he'd do just about anything to be given an invitation to join again. It's a good chance to have a favor owed us."

Tom couldn't hide his smirk at Malfoy's devious little mind. He was beginning to like the fifth year more and more each day. At first, Tom had thought he was nothing more than a pampered, spoiled rich boy, but now he could see that he had a keen politician's mind. He wasn't afraid to get leverage on someone else, and he wasn't afraid to use it either.

Exactly the sort of ally that Tom needed to count on.

"That's exactly what I was thinking," Tom said with a smirk. "He seems to be up for anything right now."

The group seemed to have no further argument, ready to move on, but Edmund couldn't seem to let it go. "Oh, and so it's just decided now, is it?" he asked with a laugh, though Tom was under no illusion that he was joking around.

"We could take a vote if you'd like," Tom offered, amiable enough. Even if Edmund didn't realize it, he knew that the rest of the Knights would agree with him now that he'd made his final decision. "Those in favor of Graeme getting a second chance," he asked.

One by one, each of the boys held their hands up, until only Edmund was the one left with his hand down. Feeling the pressure of the rest of the group, even proud Lestrange eventually raised his hand in the air to give Graeme a second chance.

"While, I suppose it's official then," Tom said with a smirk. "Thank you, Edmund, for reminding us of the importance of formalities. Now we can see that we are all in agreement."

With that, the conversation could finally turn to other topics, namely what the seventh year boys were going to try to do after they left Hogwarts. Tom had recently learned that Professor Merrythought, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, was going to be retiring, and he'd had a mind to have the job. He wasn't done with the school that had formed him as a wizard. There was too much history here, not to mention he would have constant access to the Chamber of Secrets and the Basilisk.

Not to mention, he'd only just located the Diadem of Ravenclaw after getting a tip from the Grey Lady. Hogwarts still had many secrets to explore.

He thought he might not mind being a teacher either. He'd enjoyed shaping Hermione's mind thus far.

Alfie was planning to continue his studies, while Gus and Louis were taking gap years to explore the world. Evan was going to find a job in the Department of International Cooperation, while Edmund was wealthy enough that he didn't need to find a job, and planned on being a benefactor for pureblood causes.

Abraxas and Neville were left lamenting the fact that they still had two more years of school before they could get out in the world. Neville wasn't too sure what he was going to do once he left school, but he clearly had an aptitude for potions. Abraxas on the other hand had a good handle on what he expected to do. He was going to clerk for his father to gain experience in the Wizengamot, so he could eventually take his seat.

As the conversation dwindled and broke off into smaller groups, Tom once again found himself in a discussion with Abraxas.

"I was telling my father about you over the holiday," Abraxas said, his blond hair shining in the dim light. "He was really impressed with your marks and accomplishments, and he likes your ideas."

"Oh?" asked Tom, a bit surprised that Brutus Malfoy would be interested in the likes of him, but pleased that he could recognize greatness when he heard about it.

"Yes, and he'd love to sponsor you once you leave Hogwarts. He'd give you a flat, generous yearly stipend. He could get you any job at the Ministry," Abraxas bragged. "All you'd have to do is agree to tea with him and mother once you sit your NEWTs."

Tom was still a little sore about needing to accept any sort of charity, but he also knew it was something he'd need to do if he was going to succeed. "I would be happy to meet with your family, Abraxas," he assured the younger wizard. "Hopefully I will have a better sense of what my future profession will be then, too."

"I thought my father was going to be your patron, Tom," Edmund said, obviously having caught the tail end of their conversation.

"I didn't accept Malfoy's generous offer yet," Tom said, looking at his roommate with annoyance. "Merely agreed to meet with his family. I have to decide what's best for me, don't I?"

Edmund was stewing, obviously frustrated with Tom, but he knew that he couldn't really do anything about it. "Of course," he agreed. "I just want you to know that our offer still stands."

"Thank you, Edmund," Tom said with a placid smile. Truthfully, he'd rather take Malfoy's offer. He didn't want Lestrange to think that he was in any way above him. Because he _wasn't_.

* * *

As classes resumed, Tom began to feel a certain sort of gnawing pain in his stomach. He knew that it wasn't a physical ailment, but rather it was guilt he felt at how he'd left Hermione after their last argument.

He knew that they had a passionate relationship, so heated discussions were part of the territory. But, he knew that he'd really pulled the scales from her eyes and forced her to acknowledge many truths that would be painful for her. Tom also knew that he had the luxury of walking away from any of their arguments while she could not. While she was left to her own devices, with nothing but her own thoughts for company, Tom was free to busy himself with anything he wanted to.

Tom hadn't forgotten the way that she practically begged him not to leave, tears in her eyes. It was cruel of him to take advantage of her when she was growing so very dependent on him for companionship and stimulation.

He _shouldn't_ feel bad about it, but the nagging guilt simply wouldn't go away. The thought of Hermione devastated because of something he did gnawed away at him, even though he loved to be needed by her.

So, when the next Hogsmeade weekend rolled around, Tom made a direct route to Scrivenshaft to pick up the present that he'd ordered her. The Slytherin knew that he needed _something_ to smooth over the hurt, especially since he didn't want to apologize for anything he said. He decided to take up Abraxas's advice and get her a special diary that she could write all her most personal thoughts into.

The clerk had it set aside for her, and Tom handed over his galleon and three sickles. It was an expense he almost couldn't believe he was indulging in. When he held the diary, with it's buttery leather cover, he knew that it was worth every knut.

With his present procured, he chaperoned for the rest of the morning before meeting his friends at the Hog's Head. He had perhaps more butterbeers than he should have, wiling away the time until they would return to the castle and he could make his way up to the Dark Tower to see Hermione again.

If he was overly distracted, Tom was glad that his friends didn't notice or say anything about it. He was intensely uncomfortable with them taking any interest in his interactions with a girl. Edmund already was reading more into his relationship with Hermione than there was. He didn't want to court Hermione, he just wanted to cultivate her mind. But, he couldn't say that he was surprised that Edmund couldn't comprehend that witches could be good for more than love.

When they returned to the castle, none of his friends put up a fight when he told them he was going to start his rounds. This time, he didn't even make a cursory sweep on the castle and instead went straight to the Transfiguration corridor and up the stairs to Hermione's prison. Too excited to wait, Tom wrenched the door open.

Hermione looked up when she heard him come in, but she didn't get up from her spot nestled into the window seat. Once again, she had a book settled into her lap. She looked exceptionally pretty in the fading sunlight, her skin warmed by the lingering rays.

 _Hmm_ , Tom thought to himself. She must still be annoyed with him after their fight.

He supposed that he couldn't really blame her. He knew that apologies were an unfortunate necessity, even if he didn't really understand why people got so hung up on them.

"Do you not want me to be here?" he asked her, walking over to her to stand in front of her.

She looked back down to her book, sullen, and shrugged her shoulders.

Tom felt his ire rise at her ambivalent response. How could she not want to see him? He was the only one who was taking any time out of his day to come and see her and spend time with her. Didn't she realize that he might have _better_ things to do than to sit with her? Why should he feel anything for her just because she'd been trapped in here by Dumbledore? Tamping down his response, he knew that Hermione needed to be handled delicately.

He sat down next to her, their legs pressed together. Hermione's robes were the color of moss today, but they looked old fashioned and worn. He wondered where she was getting her clothing from, and now he thought that it might be clothes that students had lost or left behind in past years.

"I know that we didn't leave last time on the best terms," he said diplomatically, unsure of where to start.

Hermione snorted. "That's putting it mildly."

Tom rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry that we fought," he said, watching her covertly out of the side of his eye. She seemed surprised at his words. "I wasn't trying to be mean, Hermione, but you have to understand that I'm only trying to help you in the best way that I can. I know some kinds of magic are controversial, but sometimes they are necessary."

"One time, I used a jinx to permanently scar a girl's face, because she snitched on my friends," she revealed to him, pulling her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them tightly.

He wasn't sure _what_ to say about that. Mostly, he was impressed with her. He honestly didn't think Hermione had it in her to do that. It was deliciously dark, and the exact kind of retribution that he would dole out. "And you feel guilty about it?" he asked, wondering if that was why she reacted so strongly to his suggestions.

"No! That's just it!" she said, clearly agitated. "I _don't_ feel guilty about it. She knew that she was sworn to secrecy."

"So then, what's the problem?" he asked, feeling confused.

"That _is_ the problem. That I don't feel badly about hurting someone," she said, sounding absolutely miserable. "It scares me that I might do something _awful_ , and not feel badly about it. I don't know what I'm capable of."

Tom's eyes widened. He fully intended on finding out exactly what she was capable of, but he wouldn't tell her that, not when she was so fragile. "I think that you need to stop limiting yourself because of something that _might_ happen," he said. "It's possible that you could hurt someone, but you could just as easily hurt someone side-along apparition or brewing a bad potion. It's not the magic that is to blame."

"No, it's the intent," Hermione agreed. "But if I don't know any dark magic, that means I won't be able to use it."

"Hermione, I know that you are a smart witch," he said with a grin. "You crave knowledge. I know that you won't let that hold you back from learning everything you can. I'm the same way."

She stilled when he mentioned how alike they were, temporarily uneasy. Finally, she turned to face him. "I don't like how you weaponize your presence here," she told him boldly. "The fact that you can just walk out the door and I can't do anything about it, especially when I'm upset. You have no idea how hard it is to be alone in here. So I'd rather you just didn't come if you are going to stomp out of here every time you get upset."

Her brown eyes sparkled with tears, and for once Tom truly felt awful. Salazar, he didn't want her to be so broken up just because he _left_. "I'm...I'm sorry for walking out on you," he said with a frown, his words failing him for once. "What do you propose I do? Ask for permission before I leave?" he asked, the whole thing sounding utterly preposterous.

She smiled, but shook her head. "No, but, maybe we could properly say goodbye to one another before you go," she offered.

Tom could live with that, and readily agreed. Remembering the diary that he'd gotten for her, he pulled the slim volume out of his pocket before handing it to her. "I almost forgot," he said. "As a token of my remorse, I got you a diary so that you can write down any of your inner thoughts. I've heard that witches enjoy that sort of thing."

Hermione took the diary from him, and ran her hand over it lovingly, before snorting in derision. "Ha, I know better than to trust a diary from _you_ , Tom Riddle," she said with a smirk, before rolling her eyes and giving it back.

He stilled suddenly, his blood running cold. Something about her words struck a nerve of fear in him, when he realized that she was talking like she _knew something_. The image of his own diary, long since turned into a horcrux, tucked away in his school trunk came to mind. Was it possible that Hermione _knew_ about the horcrux, he wondered? But even worse, if she did, how had she figured that out?

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, a dangerous edge of his voice.

Her eyes widened in surprise for a moment, too shocked to say anything.

But then, she was surging forward, her hands on his shoulders. For a minute Tom was worried that she was going to fight him the muggle way again, and his fingers fumbled for his wand. How had he been so stupid as to let his guard down around her? Surely he knew that Hermione was not so beaten down.

Only, it wasn't her hard little fists that he felt, but instead her two petal soft lips pressed against his own. Their mouths seemed to fit against one another perfectly. It was nearly too heavenly to understand, but it only got better when she parted her lips, her tongue running against his bottom lip.

Tom was a bit embarrassed that he'd never been kissed before properly, and found himself unsure of what to do. But, he was certain that he _wanted_ this to continue, so he let his eyelids close and his hands move on instinct. He mirrored her own actions and opened his mouth, feeling an electric jolt down his spine when their tongues slid against one another for the first time.

The feeling of Hermione in his arms, his fingers tangled in her wild hair holding her to him, their lips pressed together in a passionate kiss was far more appealing than anything Tom could have imagined. He never wanted it to end.

But eventually, she was pulled back, a pretty blush on her face. She was flushed and her lips bruised. Hermione tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before looking up at him shyly. "I think it might be time for you to return to your dorm," she said, nervous. "Not that I want you to leave, but it's quite late."

Tom looked out the window and saw that the moon had risen in the time that they were kissing. How long had it been? He'd been so absorbed in the moment, he hadn't even recognized how much time had passed. It would be very easy to get completely lost on her if he wasn't careful.

He nodded, grateful for the reprieve. It had been a long time since he'd felt so out of control, and he needed time to get his head on straight. "I think you are right," he agreed, regretfully. He made the lonely walk to the door, feeling off balance and a bit unsure of what had transpired between them.

"Oh, Tom?" he heard her call from her spot. "Thank you for the diary."

Nodding, Tom slipped out the door. He couldn't forget that Hermione knew more than she let on. But, she'd also opened up to him for the first time by telling her about the girl she jinxed. They were at a tipping point in their relationship, he was sure.

He would just need to tread carefully.


	7. February 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows after last chapter! And for being understanding with the slight delay on this chapter. I had a crazy week, so it took me a while to get focused today. I'm still not entirely pleased with the ending of this chapter, but I wanted to get this posted today. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of chapter seven and be on the lookout for chapter eight next week!

February 1945

After sharing his first kiss with Hermione, Tom could not deny the obsession that was simmering under the surface of his mind. Despite his best attempts at focusing on his school work or trying to distract himself with his friends, he could not stop thinking about the feather light memory of her lips on his. He would be in Ancient Runes halfway through a translation one minute and the next be transported to the Dark Tower, in Hermione's arms once again.

His professors even noticed that he was not paying attention, which was an embarrassment he almost couldn't stand.

Even Tom's dreams were not safe from Hermione, though. It seemed that she would show up every night to haunt him. The reminder of her hair in his fingers, the promise of what more might be to come filling his imagination, until he woke up gasping and sweaty wishing he could forget what it was like to kiss her. He was growing distressed, feeling little more than a slave to his body where Hermione was concerned.

He had never been interested in witches before. Not because he wasn't attracted to them, but because he just didn't see much use for them. He didn't see the appeal of sex the way that his roommates did. Tom was able to handle most of those _concerns_ on his own much more handily than any witch would be able, he was sure. Witches seemed messy and emotional, doing nothing to help him achieve his aims.

But Hermione was different. She was bold and smart and fresh. Now that he knew that maybe she wasn't so sweet and innocent as she let on, he could imagine her by his side when he took his oath as the Minister of Magic. He could see her up late in his office, discussing strategies and methods to handle their mutual enemies, until their desire for one another overwhelmed them.

Tom also recognized that she was dangerous. Not only had she completely taken over his mind, he hadn't forgotten her little slip up about the diary. He couldn't figure out how she would know about his horcrux, but he would have to keep her closer than ever so she couldn't use that tidbit against him.

He stayed away from the Tower for a week just to prove that he could, even though daydreams about slipping off to see Hermione dominated his waking thoughts. Tom hadn't gotten as far as he did by giving into his base urges and he wasn't going to start now. However, he couldn't stay away forever, and he found himself standing in front of the door, key in hand.

Taking a deep breath, Tom fixed his dark hair, hoping that he appeared cool and unaffected to the witch. Assured that he would be able to handle the situation, Tom opened the door and walked in. Looking around the Tower, he found it empty and wondered where Hermione could be. Surely it was too early for her to be in bed.

Splashing caught his attention, and Tom turned to face the translucent divider. He could see the outline of Hermione's body on the other side, illuminated by flickering candles, as she was climbing into the large clawfoot tub. His heart was pounding wildly against his rib cage when he realized that all that was separating him and Hermione's nakedness was a short walk and a flimsy divider.

His feet started to work before his mind could catch up with what he was doing. He turned the corner and came face to face with his witch nestled in the tub, up to her neck in foamy white bubbles.

"Tom!" she said in shock. " _Godric!_ I didn't hear you come in." But, she made no move to shield herself, apparently unbothered that she was sitting _naked_ in a bath while he was there.

He almost skipped past her use of the name Godric. Almost.

"I'm sorry," he said, sure that his cheeks were bright red and glowing at this point. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you." His voice seemed to be an octave lower, and he couldn't tear his eyes off of her flushed face.

Her wild hair was piled on top off her head, though a few pieces had escaped and now clung to her neck, wet. From his vantage point, he could clearly see the tops of her breasts, tantalizing and round, but the view was disappointingly obstructed by the foam of her soap. She looked so confident where she was sitting, unashamed to show off her slim arms, for once uncovered by fabric.

Could she not tell all of the things that he was imagining when he looked at her? Did she not realize that he wanted nothing more than to press kisses up and down her neck while she moaned and arched against him? Or maybe she _did_ know and was simply waiting for him to make a move?

Suddenly, the weight of his inexperience was heavy. Salazar, Tom didn't even know the first thing to do with a witch. What if he tried to kiss her again and Hermione found him lacking? What if she found his touch grating and repulsive? It was enough to keep him rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do with himself.

"Are you just going to stand there all night?" Hermione asked, her brown eyes sparkling in mischief.

Tom cleared his throat, desperately unsure of what to do with himself. "Well, I can't say...that is, I don't want to presume," he stammered.

Hermione threw him a lifeline. "Well, if you want, I can get out of the tub and get dressed, if you want to wait on the settee," she offered. "Or..."

"Or?" Tom asked, his voice graveley. Merlin, he could not think of anything else he wanted to hear.

Her eyes dropped for the first time to look at the bubbles in front of her. Suddenly, she wasn't as confident as she projected either. "Or, I could take my bath, and you could help me scrub my back," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Tom found himself nodding, wanting nothing more than to feel the soft skin of her back. He walked to the edge of the tub, his legs stiff, before he got down to his knees and he was eye level with Hermione.

Hermione's arms disappeared into the water then, and she found a small flannel. With delicate ease, she ran the cloth up and down her arms to clean herself. Tom busied himself with rolling up the sleeves of his uniform shirt. He needed to do anything to keep himself occupied so that his brain couldn't catch up with the situation he found himself in - that a naked Hermione was just inches away from him.

"So, how are your classes going?" Hermione asked casually, before handing him the flannel. She hunched forward, wrapping her arms around her knees so there was (disappointingly) no chance of him seeing anything he wasn't meant to. But, Tom was sure that she had no idea how tantalizing the wet expanse of her back was when he was used to seeing witches buttoned up to their chins.

His hand was trembling when he pressed the cloth to her slender shoulders, gently caressing up and down to help clean her. "They are going as well as I can hope," he said, just glad that he didn't stutter. "I don't mind school, but it does seem like the Professors are assigning all sorts of busy work this year. You think they'd be more mindful when we have NEWTs coming up."

"Hm," Hermione said in agreement. "I wonder if I will ever be able to sit my NEWTs."

"I don't see why not if you've taken your OWLs," Tom answered, wondering at that little tidbit that she'd let slip this time. "I have a lot of friends with fathers in the Ministry. I bet they could arrange for you to take them."

She turned to look at him over her shoulder, her lips pursed in amusement. "Even for a _mudblood_ like me?" she asked.

Tom wasn't sure _what_ his friends would think if they knew about Hermione's blood status. Lestrange would probably offer to have her killed, but Malfoy might be able to be convinced that Hermione was special. The others...well, he wasn't entirely sure. "My friends listen to me," he said finally, for _once_ hating how it sounded like a brag.

He didn't want to continue this line of questioning, especially not when they were in such a compromised position. His dark eyes remained firmly rooted to the skin on her back. She had a constellation of seven moles and he found himself to trace the space between them. A shiver raced up her spine and before he knew it, Tom was leaning towards her, an unknown magnetism pulling them together for a kiss.

"Hermione," he whispered, feeling an ache in his chest he'd never experienced.

Before he could find the sweetness of her mouth again, though, he could hear the door creaking open.

Hermione spun to face him, her eyes wild and frantic. _Dumbledore_ , she mouthed to him, before motioning for him to hide under the bed.

"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore's voice called out, obviously looking for her.

"Merlin, Dumbledore," Hermione responded, before standing up from the bathtub and grabbing a robe that hung from the divider. "Don't you knock? I was in the bath, so please give me a second to get covered up."

Tom didn't have time to sneak a peek at Hermione's body before it was covered by the white dressing robe that she put on, as he was too concerned with hiding himself underneath her bed so that Dumbledore didn't see him in the Tower. He wasn't sure what the wizard would do if he knew that Hermione had been having an unauthorized visitor for so long, but he wasn't really ready for that confrontation to happen now either.

"I can assure you, Miss Granger, that you have absolutely nothing to interest me," Dumbledore answered in amusement, his voice sounding muffled from under the bed.

Hermione snorted in response. "Still, it's just a common courtesy," she insisted, obviously very annoyed at having been intruded on. "I might be your prisoner, but that doesn't mean that I don't deserve a bit of privacy, right, Dumbledore?"

From his hidden spot under the bed, Tom was desperate to see what was going on. He shifted, before peering out from underneath the dust ruffle, glad that he was well shielded by the trunk Hermione had at the end of the bed. He was able to see both Dumbledore in his typical purple robes, and Hermione tightly wrapped in the clingy, white robe she'd grabbed. While Tom knew about the _rumors_ about Dumbledore and Grindelwald, he could barely understand how Dumbledore wouldn't find Hermione appealing.

Silence stretched between the two of them, and Tom could see Dumbledore walking around the Tower, looking around.

Finally, it seemed like Hermione had grown irked enough with Dumbledore's little act. " _What_ exactly are you looking for, Dumbledore?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Dumbledore was no longer in his view, but from the sound of his voice, Tom knew he must be by the fireplace. "It's just curious," Dumbledore said finally. "The door was unlocked. I was wondering if you had someone here."

Tom sucked in his breath, annoyed that he'd forgotten to lock the door behind him. It was such an obvious slip up, and a disappointment to Slytherins everywhere.

Hermione was quick on her feet though. She made a little noise of shock. "Dumbledore, if I'd known the door was unlocked, do you think I'd still be here waiting for you?" she snarled.

"Fair, Miss Granger," Dumbledore added. "But then, when I came in here, it almost sounded like you were talking to someone."

"How dare you?" she answered. "Really, Dumbledore, you leave me alone and trapped up in this tower for weeks at a time - not to mention your little vanishing act last month - and then you question if someone is in here with me?"

Tom could hear the way her voice wavered, and he wondered if she had tears in her eyes, too. Even if she were drawing on the real emotions she undoubtedly felt, she was an excellent actress.

"I-I can't help it if I've started talking aloud to myself," she said with a tiny sniffle. "It's a wonder that I haven't gone mad in here. I don't even know how long you've kept me here."

Dumbledore didn't say anything immediately. "And the tea set?" he asked.

Hermione gave the other wizard an exasperated noise of disappointment. "You and I've talked about the house elves," she explained. "I don't like Tilly feeling like she _has_ to clean up after me, so I don't let her take all my cups."

"Yes, so she has complained to me," Dumbledore said in agreement, seeming to finally believe that Hermione was telling the truth and there was really no one else in the Tower with her.

From his vantage spot, Tom could see Dumbledore take a seat on the settee, before calling for the house elf in question. Once she'd winked into the Tower, Dumbledore ordered a fresh tea service to be delivered, and all of Hermione's mismatched cups to be taken to kitchens for cleaning.

Hermione looked even more annoyed than ever. "It's like you are trying to purposefully upset me," she said with a disappointed look on her face. But even if she was upset, she still joined the other wizard on the settee, her arms remaining crossed over her chest stubbornly.

"I've always found that a cup of tea makes conversations go smoother," Dumbledore answered, completely unbothered by the attitude that Hermione was giving him. "That and sweets, but I don't suppose that I can get Tilly to bring me lemondrops at this hour."

"Spare me all your little quips about lemondrops," she answered with a roll of her eyes. "I've seen through your genial facade, Dumbledore."

Tom had to hide his amusement at Hermione's barbs. He was so grateful that finally he had someone else who could see through Dumbledore's highly inflated sense of self on their own. Instead of his friends who thought Dumbledore was simply doddering and ineffectual, it was clear that Hermione saw how dangerous Dumbledore really was. It wasn't good to underestimate him. He could be quite the foe should you be inconvenient to him, as Hermione had gotten first hand knowledge of.

The house elf popped back into the room with a steaming pot of tea and a fresh setting. Dumbledore busied himself with pouring them each a glass, before preparing his own with an obscene four scoops of sugar.

"Cream or sugar?" he asked, offering to prepare Hermione's tea for her.

"What do you want, Dumbledore?" she demanded, not answering his question.

Dumbledore poured a small splash of tea into Hermione's cup. _Interesting_ , Tom thought. It seemed that this was a ritual they had completed many times.

"When we first met, you told me that you had important information to share with me," he started. "Information that you said could change the course of future events. Information that could save lives."

Hermione looked ashen as the words continued to pour out of Dumbledore's mouth, her eyes darting to the bed. Was she worried that he might finally hear what secrets she had that made her seem so dangerous to Dumbledore? Tom was intrigued.

"I can't see why you think it's so interesting now," she argued. "Why are you so willing to listen to what I have to share now?"

Dumbledore was quiet for a few moments, carefully considering his words. "I was busy earlier, I had greater things on my mind," he told her eventually.

Hermione scoffed once again. "Well, whatever you were dealing with _was not_ greater than what I know," she told him.

"So tell me now, then," Dumbledore encouraged, sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for Hermione to just open up to him.

Tom was waiting as well. He _needed_ to know what Hermione was keeping from him, and he didn't mind getting his answers from eavesdropping.

But, Hermione was stubborn. She wasn't about to give either wizard what he wanted. "No, I no longer trust you with what I know, Dumbledore," she said finitely, making it clear that the older wizard wasn't getting anywhere, at least not at that moment. "You will need to prove to me that you are worth trusting."

"And how would I do that?" he asked.

"Let me out of this damned tower!" Hermione said, throwing her hands in the air as if it was the most obvious solution.

"You know I can't do that, Miss Granger," he said.

Hermione stood from the settee abruptly. "Why the hell not?" she demanded.

"Because it's too dangerous for you," he said. "You could fall into the wrong hands."

She looked crestfallen and concerned. Nibbling on her lower lip, it was clear that she was at a loss for words. Her head dropped in defeat. "Then there is nothing that I can give you right now, nothing I could share with you that would make a positive impact," she said, cryptically. "And I think you should leave."

Tom waited with baited breath to hear what Dumbledore would do, feeling his chance to get more information about Hermione slip right through his fingers. But in the end, it seemed that Dumbledore was far more respectful than Tom would be. He stood from the settee, and walked towards the door, before wishing Hermione goodnight.

And then he was gone.

The Slytherin stayed hidden under the bed, watching Hermione deflate once Dumbledore was gone. Her aggressive attitude must have taken a lot out of her. Tom gave her a few moments to collect herself, her thoughts, before he slid out from under the bed.

"Miss Granger," he said with a smirk, sitting on the bed. "I don't think that you'd ever told me your family name. Any relation to Dagworth-Granger?"

"Seeing as I'm a muggleborn, obviously no," Hermione said, defensive again.

Tom threw his legs up on the bed and leaned back into her pillows. "You never know who you could be related to," he said with a frown, annoyed that she didn't have more interest in her own blood lines. "After all, I was raised in a muggle orphanage and it turns out that my family can trace itself back to Salazar Slytherin himself."

He was disappointed when she didn't seem impressed by his announcement. Didn't she understand what that meant? That he was the Heir of Slytherin? The _sole_ heir.

Instead, she sat down at the foot of the bed and peered at him. "Did you really think you were a muggle?" she asked, her nose scrunched in amusement. With her head tilted to one side, Tom felt a bit like some kind of animal at the zoo.

Tom scoffed. "I _always_ knew that I was different to the other children at the orphanage," he told her derisively. "But I didn't know that there was a whole other world for what I was. Same as you, I'd suppose," he added, a bit bitterly.

"My first bout of accidental magic scared my parents," she revealed to him. "There was no way to explain it."

The mention of her parents made her mood go sour, as though the memory was not something she wanted to linger on. He wanted her to expand more, to share more of herself with him, but he knew that she was likely to clam up if he pushed her too hard.

"None of the muggles knew what to do with me," Tom commiserated with her. "They treated me differently even after Dumbledore came to tell me that I was a special boy who had to go to a special school. And you know what bothered me most of all?"

"What?" Hermione asked, sounding genuinely interested.

"That they _knew_ I was in an orphanage all that time, and they never bothered to come explain it to me until I was eleven," he scoffed. "Imagine that. And I had to go back to that awful place every summer."

He wasn't sure _why_ he was sharing all of this with her. Maybe it was because Hermione was the first person in his life who might actually understand what it was like growing up as a magical person in a muggle world, even if she didn't share his views on muggles. Maybe he hoped that she would see the failings of the wizarding world to integrate muggleborn and raised people for what they were.

Purebloods wanted to keep out all mudbloods, and why shouldn't they? They arrived into the wizarding world half-grown and with their own ideas of how things were supposed to be, without any care for the cultural practices of the world they were joining. If they wanted to join, participate and thrive, they should have to work to assimilate into pureblood wizarding culture. Somehow, he didn't think that Hermione would share his views on this.

"It was rather jarring," Hermione agreed. "To _finally_ learn that I wasn't just some sort of freak. I felt like all my problems were solved. And then I only had to go to Diagon Alley to learn that I would just face new problems here."

It was odd to hear her talk about Diagon Alley. Tom hadn't really formulated an idea of what Hermione's life was like before she came to Hogwarts. He really had no idea of who she was, and even the small details that he'd gleaned still didn't tell him much about her. "You are a mystery, Hermione Granger," he said with a frown. "I've spent more time with you than some of my friends these last few months, but I feel like I hardly know you."

She looked nervous, skittish. "I promise you that there really isn't much to tell you," she said. "I am just... me."

"I disagree," Tom said, shaking his head. "It sounded like you had all sorts of things to tell Dumbledore. Important details that you think are of greater importance than Grindelwald himself. What could those possibly be?"

"I'm just a silly girl," Hermione said, her eyes dropping to her lap. "I wasn't being realistic about all the important things that Dumbledore has to work on."

Tom shook his head. "I don't think you are a silly girl, Hermione," he said, with a smirk. "I just wish that you would trust me with this weight you are carrying all by yourself. Especially if you are not willing to share it with him any more."

Finally, she scoffed. Hermione began to crawl towards him like a panther, ready to go after her prey. "Is this really what you want to be talking about right now, Tom?" she asked, her voice sultry and thick. "Dumbledore? Because I think I'd much rather finish what _you_ started in my bathtub."

He felt his breath get caught in his throat when he looked at her and realized how little separated them. She was a vision in her robe, still clingy from the water that had been on her body when she got out of the tub. He could see the vague pinkness of her nipples and for a brief moment, he wanted nothing more than to cup her breasts in his hands and feel them pebble beneath his palms. Salazar, he was caught off guard by how much he truly wanted _her_ in that moment.

The fear of his inexperience held him back. Hermione was far more bold than any of the witches he'd met before, and he got the sense that she knew _exactly_ what she was doing, while he did not. Of course, he had the instinct and general basics of what happened between a witch and a wizard, but he wasn't _sure_. He didn't want to embarrass himself. It would be more than he could bear.

"Tom?" she asked, faintly. Her lips were parted and her eyes half-lidded, waiting for him to initiate another searing kiss.

Mistrust blossomed in his belly. Was she trying to get out of this conversation by distracting him? It was enough to get him to pull back.

"I should really be getting back to my dorm," he said, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. "Dumbledore was suspicious enough and I don't want to be caught out."

She sat next to him on the edge of the bed, so close that their arms and legs were pressed together. "Maybe it would be better for you to stay here tonight," she whispered. "Just so Dumbledore doesn't catch you out in the hallway. What if he is just waiting for you?"

Tom smirked and shook his head. "I think you did a good enough job of convincing him," he said. "He won't catch me. He hasn't caught me these last seven years, after all."

He stood up from the bed and turned to face her, only to see an unnamed emotion on her face. She was biting away at her lower lip, almost as if she was deep in thought. For a moment Tom thought that he had said too much.

But then, her brown eyes met his, open and honest. "I'll miss you, Tom," she whispered. "Promise you'll come back soon."

Tom gave her an indulgent smile and cupped her cheek tenderly. "Of course I will," he reassured her. The darkest parts inside of him could not deny that he so enjoyed the way that she needed him. Would she still want him if they had met outside of the tower? Would she give him the time of day? Did he _care_ that it might be different had they met in other circumstances?

He didn't think that he did.

"And, when I come back next time, we can work on the warding," Tom promised, knowing that he should give her a bone. He'd been holding back her requests to get her out of there for so long, he didn't need her giving up on him. "So brush up on your wandless magic."

She rolled her eyes at him in annoyance. "What do you think I do all day in here?" she asked.

Looking as delectable as she did, perched on the bed in her thin robe, he didn't want to let his mind run away with that question. He had more than enough stimulation for one day, if he was honest.

Tom wished her a goodnight, needing to put a bit more separation between the two of them. He needed to give himself time to think. Locking the door carefully behind him, Tom began his long retreat down to the dungeons under a disillusionment charm, keeping a close eye out for Dumbledore.

All the while, he could only think of Hermione. Although he doubted it was true, what if Hermione really was just the boring witch she claimed to be, with absolutely no secrets to hide? What if she had no information that he could use to get one over on Dumbledore? Would he be able to walk away from her, leaving her in the Dark Tower to rot?

No, he didn't think that he could, not now that he knew what her kiss felt like. Not now, that he'd been captivated by her mind, by her thinking. She was at the very least a powerful witch, if she'd been able to grasp wandless magic all on her own. Hermione was a muggleborn, yes, but he could use her still.

If he was honest with himself, he would rescue Hermione from the tower, but then lock her away in one of his own making. A place where only he could visit and she would remain utterly thrilled at the prospect of seeing him. Her face would light up whenever he came home to her and he would spend his nights in the warm embrace of her thighs.

Shaking his head, he was disappointed that he'd let his thoughts get away from him once again. Back in the safety of the Slytherin Common Room, he waved off his friends and headed up to his dorm room to hopefully get some sleep.

Had he let himself get out of his depth?


	8. March 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I hope you all had a fabulous Halloween weekend :) You can follow me over on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of chapter eight and be on the lookout for chapter nine soon!

March 1945

Visiting Hermione seemed dangerous when he couldn't sort out his feelings for her. The witch made Tom's head spin with how hot and cold she could be towards him, and he sensed that she was battling something inside herself when it came to him. But, he could understand. He was going through the same back and forth.

He could admit that he wanted her desperately now, to possess her in every way possible. But, he was left with the sinking feeling that she might be trying to use his body's reactions against him. The thought of being used was enough to send Tom into a panic whenever he imagined going farther with Hermione.

Tom Riddle was a wizard to be feared. He was determined to become the most powerful wizard the world had ever seen and he wasn't going to be derailed by something as trivial and embarrassing as what was between a witch's legs.

He attempted to ask his friends about their experience with witches casually, but he left thinking that perhaps they didn't know as much as they let on. Alfie made no secret that witches didn't hold much interest for him at all - he'd much rather be deep in a book. For all their boasting Louie and Gus had seen one set of knees between the two of them. Evan could wax poetic about his witch, but it seemed that she had scolded him for fondling her. Edmund had sat silent and smirking, obviously the one out of them who had the most experience, but he wasn't willing to share it, if only perhaps because he saw how interested Tom was.

None of what the Slytherins shared had been as _intimate_ as the moment he and Hermione had shared in the bathtub. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps he knew the most of the mysteries of what lie beneath a witch's robes. He had seen the curves of her body, the mouthwatering fullness of her breasts barely concealed. None of the Slytherins had only a few bubbles to separate them from a naked witch, let alone one as beautiful as Hermione.

But when Edmund had asked about his _mystery witch_ , who they were all so curious about, Tom clammed up and kept silent. There was no point in their guessing games, seeing as she wasn't a student there, but he didn't want to share the newfound experiences he'd shared with her. He didn't want to share _anything_ about Hermione with them.

They might tarnish her.

Even though she might be dangerous - more dangerous than Dumbledore even - Tom was like a moth to the flame and found himself climbing the stairs to the Dark Tower on lazy Sunday afternoons, to bask in the light of Hermione, even if it was only for a few hours. He might regret it later, when he was feeling drunk with desire, but it couldn't stop him from coming back.

The Hufflepuffs were playing Slytherin down on the Quidditch pitch and Tom knew that they would be undisturbed by Dumbledore for several hours at least. When he walked in the room, he was surprised to see Hermione standing at the window, her hands pressed against it tightly.

At first Tom thought she might actually be watching the game. Despite her saying that she didn't enjoy the sport, he supposed that months in a tower with little in the way for entertainment might even make wizards on brooms chasing a snitch seem like a good time. But then he really watched her and saw she was concentrating, whispering spells as if her life depended on it.

"What are you doing?" he asked, coming to stand behind her.

Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice. "You snuck up on me again," she said with a frown. "I'm becoming less aware in here. Losing my edge."

"You seemed awfully focused on whatever it was that had your attention," he offered in explanation.

"Last night I had the crazy idea that I should try to break the window to get out," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Dumbledore has thought to ward the door, but surely he didn't think I would try to get out this way. I might fall to my death."

"We can't let that happen," Tom said with a frown. The thought of Hermione dying was...unacceptable at this point. "That's a smart idea. I don't know how I didn't think of it before."

He didn't think of it before because he didn't really want to let Hermione free, at least not when he had nowhere to take her.

She laughed. "You don't know _everything_ , Tom," she teased. "Anyway, I've been at it all morning, and I've had no luck, so it's probably just a terrible idea anyway."

She leaned back against the glass, looking like she was suspended in the air, and for a moment Tom felt his breath leave him. Hermione was an incredibly beautiful witch, and he wondered how he'd failed to recognize it when he first met her. Straight nose and well shaped lips, meant to be kissed - cheeks prone to blushing with just a few remnants of summer freckles - wild hair that he dreamed of tangling his hands in to hold her _just so_.

But it was really her eyes that captivated him. They were a warm brown, mischievous and bright. They communicated every emotion she was feeling. And when she looked at him, her pupils always expanded slightly revealing the affection she held for him, even after their rocky start with one another.

He could hear the murmur of a great, far off roar, which signified that Hufflepuff had wrestled a hard fought ten points from Slytherins keeper. It brought him back to the task at hand. He pressed his hand against the pane, feeling for any residual magic. "Have you tried a _bombarda_ yet?" he asked. If there was a way to blast out the glass, it would likely be that spell.

She shook her head. "Yes, but I couldn't cast it without a wand," Hermione explained, before turning to face him with a sad, yet hopeful look on her face.

Her eyes were wide and imploring and it took Tom a few seconds to realize what she was asking him for. _Another intimacy_.

His hand was wrapped around his wand before his mind could catch up, holding it out for her to take. It was incredibly personal to use another witch or wizard's wand, but here he was not giving a second thought to letting Hermione take his.

It was only after she had wrapped her dainty fingers around his wand that he felt that familiar bolt of fear, nearly stopping his heart. What if she tried to use it against him?

But she didn't. Instead she quickly cast a shield charm, before trying to blast out the window as calmly as if she were trying to levitate a feather. " _Bombarda!_ "

If Tom had been impressed with Hermione for mastering wandless magic before, seeing her cast magic with a wand in hand after not using one for over half a year was even more so. She made magic look easy and cast with an arrogance that she was born to do this. His mind immediately conjured scenarios of Hermione working beside him. She was clearly powerful, and even if he didn't have a growing _attachment_ to her, she would be a good ally to have.

To Hermione's disappointment, though, the bombarda didn't even crack the glass. She rolled his wand in her hand, looking at it with a smile. "Merlin, it felt great to use a wand again," she said forlornly. "It's been so long. It feels like I had my right arm tied behind my back and now I can use it again."

Before he could ask for it back, she strode around the room, using his wand to perform common little household tasks around the Tower. Pillows were fluffed and cleaned, her bed was made, and the mantle was dusted.

When she turned back to face him, she wore a look on her face that told him how loathe she was to part with the wand so soon. But, dutifully, she held out her hand and offered it back to him.

"Thank you for letting me use your wand, Tom," she said solemnly. "I know it couldn't have been easy to... to trust me with it."

She was right. It was hard to give up that extension of himself for her use when he really knew so little about her. Hermione had rewarded that trust, though, and he could see some of her walls crumbling down. Maybe _this_ was his true chance to get her to open up to him.

"Of course I trust you," he lied. If he had thought for even half a second about it, he wouldn't have trusted her with it.

Hermione was standing in front of him, her neck straining to look up into his face. She frowned for a moment, thinking over her next move. But then she was pushing up on her tiptoes, her arms pressed to his shoulders, pressing her lips to his in a tight kiss.

Tom gave in for a moment before he pushed her away. "Hermione," he said, barely biting back a groan at the feeling of parting from her. "I don't want you to kiss me if you are only doing it to trick me. You don't need to use your body to get me to help you."

 _Although, it would be an added bonus_ , he thought.

She smirked. "How chivalrous of you, Tom," she quipped, teasing him, before she tried to kiss him a second time.

He rebuffed her, wanting to be clear. "I'm serious, Hermione," he said, without any emotion on his face. "I'll help you get out of here without kisses. Seeing the look on Dumbledore's face will be more than enough for me to continue with you."

Hermione stared at him in confusion for a few beats. Perhaps she was embarrassed or felt the sting of feminine pride to learn that Dumbledore was enough of a driving force for him to help her and that her advances would do little to sway him. Or maybe she was fighting that internal battle where he was concerned again. She drew her eyebrows together, before her face relaxed.

She looked up at him so prettily, with her pink lips parted. "But I really _do_ want to kiss you," she revealed, looking like the admission pained her to admit. "I...I find myself drawn to you."

Tom smirked at her. "You say that as if it's a bad thing," he teased.

Hermione frowned. "I shouldn't like you," she agreed.

Wrapping his arms around her, Tom pulled Hermione closer until they were pressed against one another. It was the first time he'd instigated any affection with her, but it felt right for him to be in control of the situation. His hand found the delicate curve of her jaw and turned her face upwards until she was staring at him like a sunflower to the light.

And then he kissed her.

He was tender at first, finding his confidence, but he could not stop himself from deepening the kiss for long. The slide of her tongue against his, the heat of her mouth was enough to sear this memory into his brain forever. Tom let his fingers press back into her hair, tangling into the strands to hold her in place against him, an embrace that she would not fight against.

He wanted to change her mind. She said she shouldn't like him, but he wanted to make her desire him so much that she would no longer care what she should or shouldn't do. He wanted her to never second guess the feelings that she had for him again.

And it seemed to be working. Hermione was just as invested in the kiss, her arms straining to wrap around his neck, fingers playing with the fine hairs on the back of his neck. She did not work to hold back the moans of appreciation she gave him when she did something that she particularly liked.

Tom's feet seemed to move on his own. He was walking her back towards the bed, eager to focus on Hermione and Hermione alone. She seemed to understand and pulled him against her when they met the soft mattress, cradled by the half dozen pillows that adorned it.

Shaking, his fingers found the few buttons at the top of her fitted witch's robes. It took a bit longer than it would normally take him, he was sure, but in the end, he got the wretched thing opened.

He didn't trust himself to look at her, not yet at least. He was afraid that he might lose his nerve if he looked at her, flushed and spread out on the bed waiting for him. Would her lips be bruised? Would her breathing be quickened from her desire for him?

Instead, he broke their kiss and began a torturously slow trail of kisses from the curve of her jaw, down the side of her neck. Hermione shivered and moaned under him, giving Tom a rush of power he never would have expected to get from a witch. His tongue pressed and sucked against her pulse point. He was amazed to feel her heart racing, glad to know that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he found that he finally had the courage to cup her breast. He gave a shuddering breath, face still pressed into the arch of her neck, as his fingers found the thin lace of her brassiere, the only thing separating him from her hot flesh. Hermione arched herself into him, her nipple a hard straining point under the fabric. Tentatively, he ran his thumb across the tip, and gave her breast an appreciative squeeze.

"Oh, Tom," she whispered, her head falling back against the pillow, her hair a cascade around her.

His cock, already hard in his trousers, gave a little jump at hearing his name on her lips like so. Unable to stop himself, he ground himself against her where he was cradled between her welcoming legs. He swallowed thickly when Hermione only opened her legs wider, hiking up one side of her robes so that she could. His other hand found the skin of her thigh, hot and firm under his touch.

 _Salazar_ , his mind was spinning out of control. He felt drunker than he'd ever been from imbibing, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

Again and again, he ran his thumb across her nipple, eventually pulling down the fabric of her brassiere. He was amazed when she didn't stop him, not even when he gave her nipple a quick pinch. Instead, she rewarded him with another moan, more wanton the rest, and a thrust of her sex against his hard length.

Hermione knew what she wanted, and she was soon pressing his head further down, until he was face to face with her breast. It was small, but well formed and perfect. He pressed kisses around the cashmere soft skin, until he finally wrapped his lips around it's pink tip. _That_ got more of a reaction out of her than he anticipated.

"Oh, Tom, please," she begged, her hips rocking in even time against him, looking for _something_.

His cock was throbbing with every bump she gave him. Daring to hope, he let his hand trace up the inside of her thigh, until he found the place where they were pressed together. His eyes watched her face while he made the initial contact with the edge of her knickers. Hermione had her lower lip caught between her teeth, body still in anticipation of what was to come.

Apparently, he did not move quickly enough for her liking. Her own hand shot down to meet his. Before he knew what was happening, Hermione was pulling his hand inside her knickers, and his fingertips were touching her sex. He shuddered again. She was _hot_ and _slick_ and _Salazar,_ he didn't know what to do.

Hermione guided him, though, putting his fingertips just where she wanted them - on the firm little button at the top of her sex. She showed him how to move in a circular pattern, pressing down until the pressure was just right.

Tom could feel her hot breath against his ear as she puffed away, gasping again and again while he touched her. He didn't have much time to contemplate it. Hermione deftly opened the front of his trousers, slipping inside to wrap her delicate fingers around his cock. Unbidden, he thrust into her welcome hand.

He found her lips once again, if only to swallow up the breathy moans of his name before it drove him absolutely mad. He was finding it difficult to focus on the feel of her sex under his circling fingertips when she was such a quick study with his cock. She seemed to have him figured out after only a few slides of her hand.

There was too much going on. The taste of her on his tongue, the smell of her sex in the air, the feel of her body under his, and the persistent tug on his prick all sending him hurtling towards orgasm faster than even he was able to.

He was about to lose it all when she finally stiffened against him, pulling her mouth away from his so that she could breath out his name once again. He found himself thrusting against her hand, desperate to follow after her. It didn't take long before he did, spilling himself in her waiting hand.

Tom stilled, catching his breath for a moment, before he rolled over to lay down next to her. He felt embarrassment slip in. He couldn't believe that he'd cum in his trousers like some sort of fourth year, but then he'd never had a witch touch him like that either. He felt his cheeks heat up when he realized that Hermione had cum also, and he felt pride at being able to do that to her.

Cautiously, he pulled his hand out of her knickers. Sex was a lot more messy than he would have thought.

Hermione gave him a well satisfied smile, rolling onto her side to face him. She didn't look to be embarrassed at all, not even with her breast still exposed and her robes pushed up around her waist. Instead, she wandlessly cast a cleansing charm, looking cool as ever.

"That wasn't what I expected," she told him, her voice a bit deeper than usual.

Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise. "So you did expect _something_ like that to transpire between us?" he asked in wonder. "I'll have to listen to you explain it in detail some time."

Only then did she blush. "I just mean, I didn't think that you would just take the lead like that," she explained.

"Why not?" he wondered aloud.

"You just seem sort of shy when it comes to witches," she explained with a smirk. "Or at least shy when it comes to me. Sometimes I think I'm going to scare you off with my forwardness."

"You are very...modern," Tom said after a moment of consideration. _Modern_ , the word seemed to suit. He wondered if it was a peculiarity of her being muggleborn. Perhaps they didn't place the same importance on virginity that purebloods tended to. "You seem willing to go after whatever it is that you want. Like me."

Hermione stilled for a moment, but nodded. "Yes," she agreed. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. "And what is it that you want, Tom?"

 _You_ , he thought.

He kept quiet, thinking over the best way to answer her. He didn't think that he could tell her all of his plans, not when she _was_ a muggleborn. Knowing Hermione, it wouldn't be well received, especially not in the afterglow. What was the point in ruining the good mood between them in that moment?

"Well, most immediately, I want to get good scores on my exams," he said. "Better than good, actually. I want to do better than everyone else."

She laughed. "Doesn't everyone want that?" she questioned.

"No, I don't think they do," he answered her, thinking of his friends. They didn't need to do well on the NEWTs to be accepted, not like he did.

"I suppose you are right," she agreed. "And after school? What do you want to do then?"

Tom rolled onto his side then, so he could look at her face and watch it for any reaction she might give. "One of the Professors here, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, is going to retire at the end of the year," he answered, wetting his lips. "And I am going to take his post."

Hermione snorted. "Okay," she said. "And when that doesn't work out?"

He felt annoyance begin to bubble up. "There is no point in thinking like that," he told her. "I _will_ get the post."

She laughed at him, before rolling to face him once again. "No you aren't Tom," she insisted. "You aren't going to get the job, because you are too young. You have no experience as a Professor or in the field. You should think about a back up plan."

"A back up plan?" he seethed. How dare she think that he was going to fail at something as simple as getting a post at Hogwarts?

"Yes, a back up plan," she repeated. "Or else you are going to end up doing something completely undignified like being a shopkeeper at Borgin and Burkes!"

There was something about the specificity of her statement, of the way that she talked so confidently - like she _knew_ \- that made a cold shiver dance up his spine. How did she know that Mr. Borgin had sent him a letter offering him a position. "That won't happen," he insisted.

"Really, I am just so...so annoyed with you Tom!" she said. "How can a wizard as powerful of you have such low career ambitions? You could do anything you wanted if you just did a little bit of planning."

"I _want_ to be a Professor," he insisted.

She laughed at him again. "What's the real reason, Tom?" she asked. "Because I can't see a reason why you'd like to be a professor. You don't seem to enjoy teaching, not really anyway, and I know your thoughts on the Dark Arts."

He felt himself fuming once again, wondering how it was that Hermione knew more than she was letting on. How could she have guessed that he had more of a reason for wanting to stay at Hogwarts than for the job? Did she know about the Chamber? About the Basilisk? How did she know all of this?

It seemed that it was only part of the mystery that she was hiding from him. _This_ was what made her valuable to Dumbledore, why she was seen as dangerous enough to keep locked up in a Tower like a princess. Only, it infuriated him to no end that she dared to question him, to suggest that he wasn't quite as capable as he found himself to be.

"What would you have me do then? Hm?" he questioned, wondering what exactly she was planning, what exactly she saw for his future.

Hermione was silent for a few beats, biting her lower lip. She seemed to be warring with herself, perhaps questioning what she should divulge. "I would rather see you at the Ministry," she said finally. "It's no secret that the Ministry is struggling and I think you could do a lot of good there."

Tom frowned. The Ministry seemed so confining. He didn't want to be pressed into a box and forced to jump through bureaucratic hoops. "I want to do things my way," he said, irked.

"So, you could change the Ministry to suit your needs," Hermione said. "There is a lot of conflict between muggles and wizards right now, and who better than someone who was muggle raised to help ease the conflict."

"Be careful what you wish for," he said coolly. "Perhaps you and I don't have the same vision of muggle-wizard relations."

"I-I don't think that we do," Hermione stammered out. "But, I still think trying diplomacy is better than the alternative."

Tom didn't want to talk about his future anymore, not when he felt so tilted and unsure of himself in that moment. He didn't like the feeling that Hermione had plans for him, plans that she wasn't being entirely forthcoming about.

"And what about you?" he asked meanly. "What do you want out of the future?"

Hermione gave a great sigh, before answering quickly. "The only thing that I want is to get out of this bloody tower," she answered. "Revenge might be nice, too."

 _That_ piqued Tom's interest more than he cared to linger on. He loved the idea of a vengeful Hermione, taking control of her life and of her magic and punishing the wizard who had put her there - Dumbledore.

Before he could stop himself, he was pressing another kiss to her lips. "I promise you this, Hermione," he said, their noses touching. "I promise that before the year is up, I _will_ get you out of this tower. And I can help you get your revenge."

She shivered at the promise. Perhaps she hadn't thought that revenge was truly in her grasp, but Tom knew that he could give it to her. Instead of talking any longer, she kissed him back passionately, enough to take his focus off their future.

Faintly, in the background, he could hear the announcer gleefully telling the cheering students that Slytherin had caught the snitch and won the Quidditch match. With a groan, he pulled away. "I should be getting back to Slytherin," he told her with true disappointment. "Everyone will be back soon enough, and it will look odd if I'm not celebrating with them."

He hated to leave her. He could spend the rest of the day kissing her if she would let him, and his heart beat double time when he realized that she likely would.

Tom stood up from the bed. It felt odd to leave her after the intimacy that they had shared that afternoon. He knew that he wouldn't likely forget what they had shared for a long time. If anything knowing what Hermione felt like under his fingers, he would be even more haunted by her than he already had been.

Hermione was disappointed, too, but she made no move to stop him from leaving. Instead, she busied herself with fixing her robes, telling him goodbye. "I hope that I will see you again soon," she whispered.

"Of course," he agreed. He shut the door behind him, locking her away once again.


	9. April 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows after last chapter! We are getting close to the end...You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of chapter nine and be on the lookout for chapter ten soon!

April 1945

Tom was finding it harder and harder to scrape out some time to spend with Hermione in the tower as his NEWTs got closer and closer. He couldn't let his marks slip even a little bit, lest it bring attention to what he was up to. And, he really didn't really need Dumbledore keeping a closer eye on him and realizing that he was spending a lot of time in the Dark Tower.

He did make sure that he swung by to visit her every few days, though, even if it was only for a few minutes, because he knew how affected she was by the long absences. A few new books was all it took to keep Hermione happy and it also meant that he could get a snog or two in while he was there.

Sharing such an exquisite afternoon with his witch had made Tom realize what all the fuss was about love and sex, and he found himself thinking about it often. Tom was eager to see what the next steps would be in their relationship. He wasn't sure if Hermione would consent to sleep with him if they had no commitments to one another. A pureblood witch surely wouldn't, but he wasn't entirely sure about a muggleborn.

Then again, he distinctly got the feeling that Hermione did not like conforming to repressive societal norms. There was something so...unconventional about her, but he just couldn't quite put his finger on it.

On a quiet Thursday night in the middle of April, he found himself tucked away with Hermione once again. There was probably no need for a fire any more, but it crackled away in the fireplace as usual anyway. Their books were abandoned on the small coffee table and Tom found himself with a lap full of needy witch.

Hermione had her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she kissed him passionately. He loved to catch her lower lip between his teeth and give it an affectionate nip, bordering on painful, because she always seemed to gasp and arch into him. Tom knew that it drove her wild and could make things progress in the direction he wanted them to - with his hands up her robes and his cock pressed firmly against her.

Tonight, Hermione seemed to have wised up to his plans, though. She gave a disappointed moan and pulled away from him. Not willing to stop so soon, Tom tightened his hold around her waist, pressing his mouth to her neck so he could suck at her pulse point. _That_ normally sent her heart racing and if he was lucky it might leave a small bruise there to remind her of him while he was gone.

She moaned, her fingers slipping through his dark hair. "Tom, we need to stop," she said, her voice deliciously lusty, confirming that he did have an effect on her.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because we've had months to research, but we haven't actually made any progress with the warding," she complained. "I want to get out of this place eventually, okay?"

He chuckled, but stopped teasing her with his lips, knowing that it was true. They had spent very little time doing any actual research in the past months, and he felt a little bit badly that they didn't have more to show for it. Mostly, he was just worried about her finding a way out of the tower before he was ready. Where would she go if she was freed today? He wouldn't be done with school for three months yet, and he wouldn't stand to be parted from her.

"Of course," he agreed with her, letting her slip off of his lap to sit beside them. He tried to clear his mind, although snogging was far more interesting than Charms was at this point. He watched Hermione out of the side of his eye, and couldn't hide his smirk when he saw her pressing her fingertips to swollen lips.

"What?" she asked, seeing him look at her.

Tom was dumbfounded for a moment, but eventually decided to just be open with her. "Nothing, just...you're very pretty," he said. "It's hard for me not to look at you."

Hermione's cheeks went pink at the unexpected compliment. "Oh," she breathed out in surprise. "Thank you. I don't think anyone has ever said something like that to me."

"Then everyone else is a fool," he answered.

It was hard to understand _why_ someone wouldn't want Hermione. She was pretty, but she was also intelligent and determined and passionate. She had a dark streak that he intended on cultivating, too. Perhaps the only thing that might hold someone back was her blood status, but Tom was finding more and more reasons to overlook that. Not to mention he was sure you'd find some magical blood in her if you looked far enough back in her family tree.

He stood from the settee first, offering a hand to Hermione. They walked to the door and opened it. "Try to walk through it again," he commanded. "I want to see what happens when we trip the wards."

She took a deep breath, but did as he asked. As soon as she met the threshold, she was being pushed back into the room, unable to leave. The edges of the wards shimmered a pale blue when she came into contact with them, allowing each of the teenagers to examine them for a moment.

"May I use your wand?" Hermione asked, holding her hand out in question.

Tom frowned, but handed over his wand all the same. He'd trusted her once and been rewarded and he hoped it would be the same this time, although the stakes seemed higher. What was to stop her from stunning him and breaking out on her own?

Hermione wouldn't do that.

He watched in a state of fascination as she handled his wand as expertly as though it were her own. He wondered what her wand was like. Perhaps they shared a core. "What was your wand made of?" he asked.

"Vinewood," Hermione answered without thinking. "With a dragon heartstring core."

Tom was surprised. He didn't think he'd ever heard of that combination before. The vine was certainly good for an ambitious personality, and it would be a conduit for great magic. He knew it would be suited to both friendly magic and darker purposes. It would not fail her in a fit of wrath. And the dragon heartstring was _very_ well suited to the dark arts. Maybe Hermione didn't know herself as well as she thought.

"I hope we can find it for you," he said. "It isn't right for you to be parted from your wand for so long."

Hermione snorted. "I can't believe that I let Dumbledore take it off of me, I never even expected..." she trailed off, before the warding gained her focus again. She used the wand to slowly tease at it, only to become more frustrated when she couldn't quite figure out what she was looking at. "I don't understand. I've never seen anything like this. It's so arcane..."

"May I?" Tom asked, waiting for her to return the wand to his own hand. Once it was returned to him, he took his own look at the warding. It didn't take long for him to understand what it was that he was looking at.

He turned to face Hermione, a frown on his face. "I doubt you would have come across these before," he said. "It's not as if they are taught at school. They are blood wards."

The only reason Tom really could recognize them was because he spent so much time with Alfie. The Notts kept a very complex network of blood wards at their family home and Alfie had only been too happy to explain it all to him. Not many of their friends had any interest in magic like that, at least not as teenagers. Tom was sure they would find interest when they assumed the roles as Head of House.

"Blood wards?" Hermione repeated, sounding utterly dismayed.

"Yes," Tom confirmed. "And that means that Dumbledore might be the only person alive who can actually release them."

 _Unless_.

Unless Dumbledore was dead. The wards should fall once Dumbledore was gone. But he wouldn't date suggest that to Hermione just yet. It would be even better for her to come to that conclusion on her own.

Hermione shook her head, unwilling to accept his words. "There _has_ to be another way," she said with a frown. Biting her lip, she turned to look at him. "You'll bring me more books? About blood wards I mean? If there is some way...I'm _going_ to figure it out," she vowed.

Tom nodded. He pressed his hands to her shoulders and his lips to her forehead in a quick kiss. "Of course I will," he agreed. "Until next time."

* * *

Next time was not very far off.

Tom had scoured the library for every possible book on blood wards, but he was sure that Hermione was not going to find the kind of information that she was hoping for in them. Blood wards were particularly strong and tied to the person who cast them, so he was doubtful that there would be a clean way to break them, no matter how much Hermione hoped. He needed her to get past her denials as quickly as possible and see that killing Dumbledore was the most practical method of getting her out of the tower.

But, he knew Hermione would never accept that, not until she felt like she had a full understanding of the magic.

He thought of the Diadem with a start one evening when he was just drifting off to sleep. His eyes snapping open, he wasn't sure what possessed him to want to give something as precious as the Diadem of Ravenclaw to Hermione, but once it was in him, he couldn't put it aside. He had special plans for it, now that he'd finally gotten its location out of the Grey Lady, but this might be a better cause. The Diadem was supposed to enhance the wisdom of the wearer and if it would help her see the truth sooner than it was worth a chance.

Pulling it out of where he'd hidden it in his trunk, Tom put the Diadem in his pocket and went to visit Hermione at the next available opportunity. He was nearly shaking with nerves at the thought of giving her something quite so precious, wondering what she'd think of it.

Hermione met him at the door and eagerly took the stack of books out of his hands, heading off towards the settee, ready to settle in for the evening. "Is this all the library had?" she asked, looking through the titles.

Tom couldn't help but snort at her. "You couldn't even see over the top of the pile, ungrateful witch," he countered.

She gave him an apologetic look. "Of course, thank you for getting them for me, Tom," she said. "I just thought there might be more..."

"You know it's arcane magic," he said. "The knowledge is more likely to be passed down within families rather than being written down. My friend Alfred Nott is somewhat of an expert. I suppose we could ask him as a last option."

He watched in surprise as her nose wrinkled at the name Nott. Perhaps she knew Alfie from somewhere? Though, he knew it would be highly unlikely that the pair of them would have crossed paths before. That was odd.

The Diadem was burning a hole in his pocket though. "The books aren't the only thing I brought you for your quest of knowledge," he said, surprised when he heard his voice shaking from the nerves once again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Diadem, holding it out for Hermione to take.

She gave him no immediate reaction. Instead, she just stared at it owlishly. "Is that-"

"The lost Diadem of Ravenclaw?" he cut her off. "Yes."

"Where- how did you get that Tom?" she asked, her voice hitching in her throat. Still, Hermione hesitantly grabbed for the delicate headpiece, her fingertips lovingly caressing the sapphire that hung in the middle.

He frowned, unsure of what to say about it. "Let's just say that I can be quite charming," he explained. "And the only person who knew it's location told me when I asked very nicely."

Her eyes snapped to his, narrowed. "Did you threaten someone to get this?" she demanded, obviously concerned for the original owner.

Tom smirked at her. "No, the person was already long dead," he explained. "No need to threaten a ghost."

" _Oh_ ," she breathed out in understanding. "The Grey Lady."

He was impressed by how quickly she'd deduced the person who would know where it was. It had even taken him several years to make the connection himself, and it was only because he'd made it a point to learn about the Bloody Baron's life. "How did you figure it out?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"The portrait of Helena Ravenclaw in the library," she said, off-hand.

Tom was once again stunned by the little detail that Hermione had let slip. So, she had been to the Hogwarts library before, and long enough to study the portraits. He wondered how that was possible, but didn't think to ask at that moment. Instead, he was too taken with Hermione's breathless reaction to the present.

"Go on, try it on," he said, encouraging her. "It's meant to increase the wisdom of the wearer, so I hoped that it would help you with your investigation of the wards."

She took a deep breath, but eventually raised the silver diadem and nestled into her hair. She looked like a princess with a crown on her head. It looked as if it was meant to be there all along. Hermione kept her face down, unwilling to meet his eyes. Tom wanted to see the full effect and cupped her jaw gently, before tilting her face up to meet him.

Her eyes were filled with tears - large and threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, uncomfortable with her emotion. Weren't witches supposed to be happy with jewelry? So why was she crying?

"It's just...I can't believe you are giving this to me, even if it's only to borrow," she explained, her voice hitching. "It's something that's so obviously _precious_ to you, and you are giving it to me - a witch you know almost nothing about."

"I want you to have it," he said, unsure of where this conversation was going.

"I just never expected _you_ to do something so thoughtful or sweet. You aren't at all what I expected you'd be like," she continued on.

The tears actually began to fall now, and Tom wasn't sure of what he should do at all right now. Should he comfort her? But all he could focus on were her words. He wasn't what she'd _expected_ him to be like? Had she known about him ahead of time? He was left feeling like Hermione knew far more than she was letting on, and he wanted answers.

Luckily, it seemed that all of Hermione's carefully constructed walls were finally coming down.

"I haven't been entirely truthful with you, Tom," she said, sounding incredibly woeful, but also nervous.

For his reaction, maybe? "Just tell me what it is, Hermione," he encouraged, on the edge of his seat, unbelieving that he was _finally_ going to learn her secrets after so many months of cultivation. "I won't be mad."

"Dumbledore's...Dumbledore has me locked up here because he is concerned that I have dangerous information," she said. She nibbled on her lower lip, agonizing over her next words. "Dangerous because...because I'm from the future."

"A _time traveler_?" he asked, astonished that he'd never thought of that solution on his own. But it all made so much sense now that she'd said it. All the little inconsistencies that she'd let slip in the time they spent together seemed to fit like the missing piece in a puzzle.

"Yes, you see, I _was_ finishing up my sixth year at Hogwarts," she explained. "My friend and I got into a fight over a time turner, and well...it smashed and sent me back here."

"When are you from?" Tom asked, absolutely fascinated by the possibilities that this presented to him. He had so many questions that he wanted her to answer.

"I came from 1996," she said quietly, looking down again. "Almost fifty years in the future."

"And we know each other in that time?" he asked, wondering if perhaps he was her professor or something. That would explain her strong dislike of his desire to return to Hogwarts as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. But, he honestly could not believe that his ambitions would have landed him as little more than a professor after fifty years.

"We know each other," she agreed. "We're fighting one another. In my time-" Her voice hitched, and she couldn't continue with what she was trying to say.

"Tell me," Tom demanded, his voice silky. He had this most perfect gift fall right in his lap where he might learn his future and he had to learn every detail he possibly could.

"In my time you are known as Lord Voldemort. You are taking over the wizarding world with your supporters, with the goal of eradicating people like me - mudbloods and blood traitors," she said, choking on her words. "But you aren't winning. And you aren't going to win."

It was odd to hear the title that he'd picked for himself when he was still a fifth year on her lips. He hadn't told anyone about it yet, not even his Knights.

Tom could understand why she was so obviously broken up about this. How could she have feelings with someone who was trying to kill her in the future? How could she have let him kiss her, touch her, when she knew what he was going to become?

But, he was even most concerned by her promise that he wasn't going to win. "Why not?" he asked, hoping that she wouldn't realize she was giving him valuable information.

And, of course, Hermione was too competitive not to proudly describe his downfall for him. "Well, you were already killed once before," she said. "In 1980, you try to kill my friend Harry Potter, who is just a baby. But the curse rebounds and strikes _you_ instead. But you aren't gone, not really. You come back."

"How-"

"The horcruxes," she said, breathless. "Harry had only just told me about them when we were struggling with my time turner, and I didn't understand it right away, but then you gave me that book...the one about Herpo the Foul, and I figured it out. You made your Diary into a horcrux, didn't you? And I know you've made others."

For a moment, Tom thought about killing her. She knew so much about him that it was breathtaking. The damage she could do to him if it got out that he had created horcruxes could be devastating. If someone _knew_ he had a horcrux, it took away part of the effectiveness of the object. Then they might try to hunt them down and destroy them.

"Clever girl," he said finally, wondering if she could hear his heart pounding against his rib cage while he thought over his next moves. "You got that all on your own, did you?"

"Yes," she explained. Now that she had started telling him what she knew, it seemed like she couldn't stop the words from spilling out of her mouth. "But Harry destroyed your Diary in second year. So since he said we had to find the other horcruxes, I know that means that you've made others."

Tom sat still as a statue, willing himself not to look down at the Gaunt family ring that he now wore. What would Hermione do if she knew that a piece of his soul was right there for her to take?

"I didn't know who you were at first either," she said. "I thought you were just a horrid boy, but I figured it out soon enough. You're Voldemort." A sob escaped her, and he watched as her shoulders shook, trying to contain the feeling desperately. "But you also _aren't_ him. Not yet at least. You're still Tom to me."

He wet his lips, wondering how she'd react to his next request. "May I see into your mind? What your memories of my future are?" he questioned. So far, he had not attempted to use legilimency on Hermione, knowing that he was far too clumsy to achieve it without notice. But, it was still a good way to see what lay in store for him.

She pressed her lips together in a thin line, thinking it over, before she gave him a hesitant nod. Her doe eyes looked into his, tears still clinging to wet lashes.

He entered her memories, and was immediately assaulted with negative emotions. It seemed like every memory that she had of this Lord Voldemort was tinged with fear and an animal will to survive. It took a few seconds to get his bearings, but eventually he saw the monster he would become in Hermione's time.

At first, he did not believe the man that he saw could be him. With his stark white skin, red eyes, and no discernible nose, he seemed more serpent than man. Tom was somewhat vain, and he quite liked being good looking, so he could not believe that this metamorphosis was well received in the future. It was clear that he was a powerful wizard, but he had obviously been outsmarted by school children several times, so what power was that? People were afraid of him - afraid to even speak his name, but he didn't wield any true power in her time. Only a handful of followers seemed to join with him in arms. The thing he saw was crazed and paranoid - _desperate_.

It sickened him.

When he left his memory, Hermione was watching him with a queer sort of look on her face. She didn't know what sort of reaction he would have, and she seemed poised to fight if she needed to.

"I was going to warn Dumbledore about you," she said, her voice on edge. "But he wouldn't listen and instead he locked me up in this tower."

"And have you told him anything since then?" Tom questioned.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Not since...not since I grew to know you better."

"Because you think I can change?" he asked.

"I _know_ you can change, Tom," Hermione insisted. "You don't need to become that wizard."

"I will not allow that future to come to pass," he promised her.

Only, he didn't think that she was going to like what he had in mind. He was not going to give up his quest for power. But, he was beginning to see that perhaps his plans of total domination could only lead to division and fighting. The other side - _her_ side - would never accept him the way that he had been. He would have to be a little more sneaky...a little more Slytherin, if he was going to worm his way into the power structure and take over from the inside out.

Suddenly, her suggestions that he forget the Defense Against the Dark Arts post made more sense to him.

"So, you already know I _won't_ get the post for Defense Against the Dark Arts?" he asked, gauging her reaction.

She gave him a small smile. "You'll be rejected for lack of experience," she answered, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. "Instead, you'll take a job as a shopkeeper in Knockturn Alley, and languish there for several years, accomplishing nothing of note."

Privately, Tom thought Hermione must not know what his accomplishments during that time _were_. Surely, he would not stay working for Mr. Burke if he wasn't getting anything out of it, not with all of his contacts. He could see how she would see it as below his potential though.

Silence hung between them until Hermione could no longer stand it. "Are you mad at me? For keeping it from you for so long? After what we've...experienced with one another?" she questioned.

Tom thought about it for a brief moment. He wasn't sure that he was mad at her; he was still feeling too much excitement over the fact that he _finally_ learned what her secrets were and they were as good as he had hoped. Better even.

"I'm not mad at you," he said, putting her out of her agony. "I can understand why you'd want to keep it to yourself. But you've given me a lot to think about. I think I ought to go for the night."

Her eyes were desperate once again, the fear of being left alone creeping in once again. "But you promise you won't just leave me in here, right?" she practically begged, needing reassurance.

"I said I was going to help you get out of here, and it was a promise," he said, grabbing her by the back of the head, pressing his lips to hers in a quick peck. "I'll be back, Hermione, and it won't be long."

"Goodnight, Tom," she said, nodding. It was clear she was on the verge of tears once again.

He didn't stay to comfort her, and instead made his way to the exit, locking the door to the tower behind him.

If Hermione thought that he was just going to let her go after what he'd learned about her, she was more naive than he suspected. No, Hermione was far too useful to him - a conduit to look into a future that had gone so wrong. He wouldn't make the same mistakes again, and with her help he was sure that he could be far more powerful than the Lord Voldemort in the future.

Of course, as he made changes, the less her information from the future would be helpful. As more deviations occurred, less of her future would remain. But Tom wasn't going to give her up then either.

He was enchanted with her, even if he wouldn't tell her that. Not only was she suited to him in intellect and beautiful to look at, but he was so going to enjoy bringing her around to his way of thinking. She might think that she wasn't a dark witch, but she was teetering on the edge. Tom wouldn't be shy about giving her the push she needed to make the leap.

She would be a useful asset to have at his side then, giving him council as he moved through the world. And hopefully, she would have a place in his bed as well.

Only, he knew that this was going to bring about some growing pains amongst the Knights of Walpurgis. Would they be adaptable, he wondered, when they found out the witch at his side was a mudblood? Would they accept her for her merits alone?

He would force them to, he decided, just as they had accepted him as a half-blood. Even if he had to invent some connection for her to the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

But, Tom was not blind to his group of friends. Some would take more _convincing_ than others should he change his stance on pureblood supremacy. Others, he was sure, would be up for the challenge.

When he got back to the Slytherin common room, he already had a plan forming in his mind. He sought out Abraxas, sitting alone in one of the great wingback chairs. "Abraxas," he said in greeting.

The blond gave him a great smile. "Tom," he answered.

"I've had a change of plans, Abraxas," he said, his voice dipping lower - conspiratorial almost. "I'd like to meet with your father and mother at their earliest convenience."

Abraxas was on the edge of his seat, obviously pleased that Tom had selected his family over the Lestranges. "Of course, Tom. I'll owl them first thing in the morning," he said. "And, if you need anything else, just let me know. Father will be so pleased."

"Oh and Abraxas?" he added, as he was walking away. "Let's just keep this between you and I for now."


	10. May 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am so pleased that you are enjoying this take on the whole time turner scenario, because I do think it's a little different than usual! Also, I don't want to shock anyone, so here is your smut warning for this chapter... You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of chapter ten and be on the lookout for chapter eleven next week!

**May 1945**

Tom was not idle with the information he'd gleaned from Hermione's memory. He did not want to become the hideous monster that he'd grown into last time, and that meant securing employment that wasn't at Hogwarts _or_ at Borgin and Burke's.

After working with Abraxas Malfoy, he was able to secure an informal meeting with Brutus Malfoy. Brutus would be at Hogwarts for a meeting of the Board of Governors and it just so happened to fall on a Hogsmeade weekend, the last of the school year.

Brutus Malfoy wouldn't deen to meet at the dingy Hog's Head, especially not with the lingering rumors about Aberforth Dumbledore and his goats. Instead, he arranged to meet at a private room in the village's lone tea shop - Stretton's Tea and Fine Porcelain. A rather stuffy place, Tom immediately felt out of place when he entered the establishment, even though his robes were immaculately cleaned.

This was the kind of establishment that thus far had been unavailable to him by way of his lack of family connection. But, with Abaxas by his side, no one gave him a second look.

Brutus was already waiting for them with a tea setting, halfway through a scone with clotted cream and raspberry jam. He was a slight and angular man, not unlike Abraxas, but he seemed harder than the silly fifth year. Even with his pink treat in hand, Tom knew that Brutus was not someone to be trifled with, though he might seem charming enough.

"Father," Abraxas said in greeting. "This is Tom Riddle, the wizard I was telling you about."

"Good afternoon, Tom Riddle. Please sit," Brutus answered, looking him up and down and offering him an empty cup to pour his tea. "Abraxas tells me that you are Head Boy and certain to do better than anyone in your class in your NEWTs."

"Yes, I am very ambitious," Tom agreed, not bothering to be humble. He knew that he was an excellent student, and he saw no point in trying to hide that fact.

Brutus smirked at him. "Abraxas told me that as well. A true Slytherin."

"A true Slytherin, yes. The heir of Slytherin you could even say," Tom boasted, proud to share his heritage. "I have even inherited Salazar Slytherin's ability to speak to snakes."

Abraxas gasped at the admission, clearly unaware of the detail. Brutus seemed surprised, but not completely convinced either. "But you are only a half-blood," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I am unfamiliar with the family name _Riddle_."

Tom bit down hard on his tongue to stop from growling at Malfoy for questioning his lineage. "Yes, I'm the unfortunate product of my mother's affair with a muggle," Tom said confidently. He was going to need to embrace his background or wear it heavy for the rest of his life in shame. "Her name was Merope Gaunt. I'm sure you've heard of them."

This time Brutus was surprised. Who _hadn't_ heard of the Gaunt family and the ruin that they'd become? Tom knew that he was the last connection to this once great family, even if he was _just_ a half-blood.

"That explains your commitment to pureblood tradition and ideology," Brutus said after a brief period of silence. He must have been wondering if his son had been woefully misguided about the wizard's beliefs.

"Yes, I think it's very important that we don't allow the old ways to be snuffed out by the inclusion of muggleborns. We've given too much thought to muggles and how to hide ourselves from them," Tom explained. "For a long time I thought that excluding muggleborns from joining our world was the best way to preserve the traditions."

"And that is no longer your belief?" Brutus questioned. Although it was not what he was expecting to hear, perhaps, he still seemed open to Tom's line of reasoning. This was something that Edmund's father would never have been able to do.

Thinking of Hermione tucked back in her tower, Tom shook his head. How could you exclude muggleborns when some were as magically powerful as Hermione? How could half-bloods be looked down on when he _was_ a half-blood and he was by and far the best in his year? "I think we need to bring the muggleborns in even earlier now, so that we can help them assimilate to their culture," he explained smoothly. "The Ministry isn't concerned _enough_ with muggleborns. They let them be indoctrinated by muggles for eleven years before bringing them into our world. How could they ever hope to fully participate in our traditions?"

"Don't you think the muggleborns will always want to live between worlds?" Brutus asked, wanting to see how far Tom had thought this through. "The muggles are still their family."

"Their families will never be able to understand them the way wizards do," Tom said. "Muggles are inherently mistrustful of magic, and the muggleborns will be able to sense that, especially when they see the welcome that they receive in our world."

"So instead of shutting them out of our world, you want them to shut out the muggle one," Brutus said, sounding amused. "That's a bold idea."

"Perhaps," Tom conceded. He was sure it would take a lot of convincing to get what he wanted out of the Ministry. "But muggleborns aren't going away, and if we don't offer them a place to learn about themselves then the muggles might recognize them and use their magic against _us_ at some point in the future."

"I hadn't thought of that." Brutus frowned. Beside him, Abraxas looked quite pale at the idea.

"Muggles can be quite destructive. You should see what their world war is doing right now," he deadpanned. Wizards had no concept of the kind of weapons muggles could make without any magic at all. He was sure they would be quite horrified.

"I see," Brutus said, with a nod. "And what is it that you want from me?"

Tom swallowed. This was the part that he hated...that he would always hate. "Well, seeing as I am an orphan without a powerful family name behind me, I lack the resources to get the sort of foothold into the Ministry that I would need to to be truly effective," he explained.

Tom wouldn't beg, so if that is what Brutus Malfoy wanted out of him, he was going to be sorely disappointed. Hopefully his keen mind and bold ideas would be enough to convince the other man that Tom Riddle, young though he may be, was the kind of wizard you wanted to throw your support behind.

"My wife and I take a particular interest in keeping pureblood traditions alive," Brutus finally said, with his lips pursed together. "But what I'm most interested in is making money. I'm thinking that if we go to war with the muggles, it won't be a good omen for our economy."

"Correct," Tom agreed.

"I'll arrange for you to get a flat in London, while you are getting your feet under you," Brutus explained. "And I believe that my friend the Secretary of Magical Cooperation is in need of a new Under Secretary. The job is yours, if..."

"If?" Tom asked, wondering what sort of humiliation Brutus was expecting out of him.

"If you still meet with my wife after graduation," he said with a grin. "If she agrees to you, I'll agree to you."

"That's a fair deal," Tom agreed, knowing that it wouldn't be hard to charm Mrs. Malfoy. He'd been doing it to his professors for the last seven years, and he was sure a society witch wouldn't be any more difficult.

Brutus stood to leave the little tea shop. "It was a pleasure to meet you Tom Riddle. I agree with Abraxas...I think you are going to do _great_ things," he acknowledged. "Good bye, Abraxas. I expect you to do well on your OWLs." And then he apparated away.

Abraxas was grinning wildly. "That went very well, Tom. He was really impressed with you," the blond fawned over him.

Tom had not got the impression that their introduction went particularly well. He suspected that Brutus thought he was some sort of radical to be humored...a way to put your eggs in many baskets to see which one would hatch. But, he wouldn't be bothered with it.

"The rest of the guys aren't going to like this though...diplomacy over rebellion," Abraxas continued with a frown. "I get the impression that several of them were very much looking forward to taking over by force."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Well, they can either fall in line or get out of the way," he snarled, catching the younger wizard by surprise. "Without me they wouldn't be able to successfully take over Hogsmeade let alone all of England."

It was true. The rest of the Knights were too spoiled and well-positioned to come up with any kind of mischief on their own. They would all do exactly what their fathers told them to if they didn't have anyone else to look to. Tom was sure that his new idea of how to grasp power was not nearly as sexy as the idea of rising up, but now that he had Hermione's future knowledge, he needed to avoid that method at all costs. He would _not_ end up dead at the hands of some toddler who couldn't even speak in full sentences.

"Let's just avoid telling the Knights for a little while longer, Abraxas," Tom said, knowing that he was going to have to break the news eventually, but he was dreading it.

"Whatever you say, Tom," Abraxas agreed readily.

"Now, I need to go see a witch about a ward," Tom said, standing, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to spend the afternoon wrapped in Hermione's arms. She grounded him, made all the uncertainty and flux seem less daunting.

"Your secret witch?" Abraxas asked with a smirk. "You know, I am sure mother and father would love to meet her, too. You should bring her with."

Tom returned his smirk, thinking about strolling into Malfoy Manor with Hermione on his arm. Would Madame Malfoy be horrified at the idea of a mudblood sitting in her gardens, he wondered? "I might just do that," he said, not giving the other wizard any hint of who his witch was.

If Abraxas thought that Tom was going to divulge that, he would remain disappointed.

Once he was free of the stuffy tea house, Tom started for the path back up to the castle. He made the journey in record time, wanting to share the good news with his witch. He climbed the stairs to the transfiguration tower in double time, before continuing up to the Dark Tower.

Hermione stood from her spot in the window seat when he waltzed in. "I watched you coming back from Hogsmeade," she said with a shy smile. "I hoped you'd come to visit me."

Tom wrapped her in his arms, holding her to him. "I just had the most promising meeting with Brutus Malfoy," he told her, grabbing her by the delicate curve of her jaw, turning her face up to look at his. He pressed his lips to hers in a lingering kiss, nipping her lower lip in a promise of what was yet to come. "He's arranging a flat for me in London to live in after school, so we will have somewhere to live."

"We?" Hermione squeaked out in surprise, her cheeks going pink.

"Of course you'll live with me," Tom scoffed, giving her a pinch on the arse. "Where else would you go?"

She bit her lower lip, obviously thinking it over. "I hadn't really thought about it before," she said, before looking at him shyly through her uncommonly long eyelashes. "But, if you'd have me, I'd...I'd love to live with you, Tom."

He guided them towards the settee, pulling Hermione to sit next to him. "He'll also give me an _allowance_ ," Tom said with a bitter taste in his mouth. "And a nearly guaranteed position as Under Secretary in the Department of Magical Cooperation at the Ministry of Magic."

"Oh Tom! That's brilliant!" Hermione said, brightening considerably. She turned her body to face his, ready to press a dozen kisses on his face.

"It doesn't feel that brilliant," he told her. Hermione was probably the only person who he could share his real feelings with. If any of his friends thought for even a _second_ that he wasn't committed to this new direction of his, they would pounce on him. They would try to convince him to go back to his original idea.

But with Hermione, he could actually open up about his insecurities. Who was she going to tell? Certainly not Dumbledore - there was already too much bad blood between them. And if she told anyone when they left Hogwarts, he would tell them _her_ dirty little secret...about being an unauthorized time traveler.

If anyone would understand the way that he was bucking against the new constraints working at the Ministry put on him, it would be her.

"Why not?" she asked, sounding dumbfounded. "I think that sounds like an excellent way to establish yourself in the right circles."

"I don't want to be seen as just a charity case, Hermione," he groused. "Brutus still looks at me like I'm a poor little orphan that needs to be nurtured. But I'm not."

"So then don't accept his offer," Hermione countered, ever pragmatic.

"But that's just it...I _do_ need his help. I need someone's help," Tom said, feeling miserable. He wanted to hate Hermione for pushing him to do it this way, but he knew deep down she had his best interests at heart. "I need money, otherwise I will have nowhere to go when I leave Hogwarts."

She looked at a loss for words, unsure of how she could cheer him up. Eventually, a determined look came over her face. "So prove to them that you aren't a weak little orphan, Tom," she said, giving him a pep talk. "Show them how far you can rise. You will be much more than an Under Secretary once you are through with the Ministry."

Tom could feel his chest puff out at her words. It was true. Brutus Malfoy would be a helpful stepping stone, but in a few years, he would be looking to Tom Riddle for what to do.

"Just think of all that you'll be able to accomplish," she continued, obviously pleased that he'd chosen to head her warnings. "I know it's not what you wanted, but I am sure you'll come to see that it's better, if you just give it a little bit of time."

He shrugged. "That remains to be seen. There is much of my life you don't know about, even in your future," he said with a frown. "Perhaps working at Borgin and Burkes isn't what made me into the monster of your future."

Hermione scoffed. "Clearly delving so deeply into Dark Magic is what made you into the Voldemort I knew," she countered. "Trying to make so _many_ horcruxes fractured your soul and made you paranoid and weak."

If there was one thing Tom didn't appreciate, it was being called weak. He instantly bristled.

"Now that we know, we can work on restoring your soul," she added gently.

"Oh, and you've just decided this for me, have you, Hermione?" he sneered. "There is no way that I'm going to give up my horcruxes, not when they all but ensure my immortality. Don't be ridiculous."

That was apparently not the reaction Hermione was expecting, because she looked exceedingly cross with him. "What's so bad about being mortal?" she asked, raising her voice. "I'm mortal."

Her statement gave him pause. She was obviously against horcruxes, but maybe he could help Hermione see the benefit. She was beginning to mean far too much to him to let her just be taken from him by a bout of dragon pox or a rival. He would have to think on that longer.

"I'm not going to let some happenstance kill me," Tom countered through gritted teeth. "My mother was stupid enough to die a few days after I was born and it left me in an orphanage to this day. I'm not going to die and chance that I haven't accomplished everything I've wanted to."

Something in her look softened when he talked about being in the orphanage. But, Hermione was not going to let some sob story get in the way of an argument. "Don't make this about that, Tom," she said. "There are other ways to secure your legacy. To make sure that the people you leave behind are well cared for that doesn't involve stuffing pieces of your soul into some object."

He wanted to tell her that she had his intentions entirely wrong. He hadn't thought about the people he'd be leaving behind, just all of the things _he_ wanted to accomplish. Tom didn't have any loved ones to speak of. He'd never contemplated the idea of marriage or of children, but now he supposed it was only logical if he wanted to continue his bloodlines.

A brief flicker of some future moment - of Hermione and _their_ child - passed through his mind, before he squashed it in its place, unwilling to pine for something that may never exist.

"I don't see what the problem is. I've already created the horcruxes and they are there. There is no point in destroying them, when they are perfect failsafe," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't appreciate arguing over his very _soul_ with her as if she had a say in it.

"Your soul is fractured and it is bound to cause problems," Hermione continued, as if she knew everything. "And it's not failsafe - my friend destroyed your Diary when he was twelve years old!"

Tom scoffed at the idea. "From how you explain it, my basilisk's venom destroyed the Diary, not your friend," he countered, not liking her suggestion. Hermione had only been too happy to share his failures with him, and Tom lapped them up wanting to know how he could avoid them.

"Why are you being so stubborn about this?" Hermione asked, pressing her hands to the sides of her head. "Don't you see that I'm just trying to help you?"

" _Me? Stubborn?_ " he asked sarcastically, thinking that he had never met someone as stubborn as Hermione was. She was always convinced she had the right of things, even when she didn't. "And why should you even want to help me? Only because I'm the only one willing to get you out of here."

Since he knew of their shared future, Tom had grown increasingly curious about Hermione's motives for helping him avoid the disastrous future she'd come from. Of course, part of him knew that she was trying to prevent the horrors Voldemort had created, but she had to know that a tiger never truly changed its stripes. A deep part of him worried that she would only help him so long as he helped _her_ get out of the tower. What happened at the end remained to be seen.

Hermione was shaking her head at him. "Oh, you _stupid_ wizard," she said, disdain dripping in her voice.

Before Tom was entirely sure what was happening she was climbing into his lap, lips pressed against his, hard enough that he could feel his teeth pressed hard against his lips. Taking advantage of his stunned state, Hermione deepened the kiss, opening her mouth to him. She moaned when her tongue slid against his, claiming his mouth for himself. Her fingers carded through his hair, holding him against her.

Tom broke off the kiss. "What is happening?" he asked, confused. How had they gone from an argument to a snog so quickly?

"Just shut up and come with me to the bed," she commanded, bossy as ever.

Tom felt his heart racing at the idea, wondering what she had planned for them. For once, he didn't feel particularly inclined to argue with her.

She stood up from her spot on his lap and grabbed him by the hand. It took them only a few steps to get from the settee and stumble into the unmade bed that dominated one corner of the room. Hermione pulled him on top of her, only to engage in another blistering hot kiss.

Tom was only too happy to oblige. He would kiss her until he drowned in her, if that's what she wanted. He let his tongue slip against hers, plundering her mouth and showing her who she belonged to. He cupped one breast, pinching her nipple through the fabric of her robes, desperately wishing that there was nothing to separate them.

Hermione moaned. Tom was sure he'd never heard a prettier noise. His body filled up with a heat that left him feeling drunk - a desperation that only Hermione would be able to quench. And she was only happy to do it.

She gave as good as she got. Ever since he had first found her, their interactions had been tinged with a fierce intensity that was usually displayed in their heated arguments. But he was pleased to learn that it was something she held in their more amorous pursuits as well. Hermione gave a good fight for taking charge in their encounters. She seemed to have a leg up on him in terms of her boldness and knowledge of carnal matters.

But she would always yield to him in the end.

And even if she tried to deny, Tom could tell that she loved when he finally took the lead. She squirmed against him, her hips rocking helplessly against his leg, something he'd learned meant that she needed to ease the ache between her legs. She keened against his lips, before breaking their kiss when she just couldn't stand it anymore.

Biting her lower lip, she dropped her eyes to his chest, before greedy little fingers got to work freeing him from his shirt.

Tom was stunned for a moment when she parted the fabric and pushed it back over his shoulders. A small part of him was worried about what she might think of his body. He was quite vain and knew that he was good looking, but this was the first time anyone had seen him this way, this vulnerable.

He needn't have worried.

She smoothed her hands down his arms, over his chest, admiring the sparse bit of hair in the center of his chest. Her fingertips trailed down his stomach until they found the top of his trousers. She pressed her face into his neck, her breath heavy on his neck when she touched the metal of his belt buckle.

The muscles of his abdomen jumped of their own accord at the feather light touch. Tom thought he might just drown in sensation at the feeling of her, but he managed to keep his focus. The thought of finally seeing Hermione in all her glory was too large of a reward to lose his focus now.

Fumbling for his wand, he cast a quick _divesto_ leaving Hermione in just her undergarments, before dropping it off the edge, forgotten for now. He leaned back, eager to see what her lack of robes revealed to him.

Hermione was lovelier than he'd even imagined in his dreams. Her skin was pale but flush with pinkness. Her breasts were small but perfect. Slim arms remained glued to her sides as though she were fighting to not cover herself from his gaze. His eyes darted past her small waist and gently rounded hips to the silken knickers she wore - far more luxurious than he would have expected. His heart beat wildly in his ribcage. She was more than he could ever want.

Tom trailed his eyes back up her body, drinking in all of her loveliness, until he found her eyes. Her curls were splayed out on the pillow, her lower lip caught in between her teeth. Her eyes, huge and brown, looked nervous...waiting for whatever his pronouncement would be.

He loomed over her, until their noses were touching. "Perfect," he whispered, only to press a kiss against her lips. "And _all mine_."

The wizard _hoped_ she understood what he meant when he said that. There was no way that he was going to let her waltz out of his life, not now that she'd forced her way into it. He would possess her - mind, body and soul.

Catching her lower lip between his teeth, Tom gave her an affectionate nip. His own hands returned to his belt, wanting to be free of his trousers. He gave a disappointed growl when he had to break their kiss to focus long enough to push down his trousers, kicking them off the edge of the bed.

Hermione was not idle. She had reached behind her and released the clasp of her brassiere. Truthfully, he was glad for it, not wanting to make a fool of himself trying to figure out how the thing worked.

She gave him a small grin when his attention was immediately taken by her breasts, tipped with small pink nipples. Like a moth to a flame, his hand cupped one. She shuddered at the contact, overcome with the sensation.

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, before pulling him down against her. Tom settled between her parted hips, trying not to buck against her center. His pulse raced even faster when he realized how little separated them in that moment. Was this _really_ going to happen?

 _Salazar_ , he hoped so.

He kissed her, only to let his hand trail down the curve of her waist, to the edge of her knickers. She moaned, pressing herself against him. Pleased that she seemed to want it to, he slid his fingers until the fabric and pulled hoping to free her of them. She happily obliged, kicking the garment down her shapely legs.

Hermione broke their kiss and pressed her lips against his neck, before pressing her hands to his hips, pushing his briefs down as well.

He swallowed thickly, all confidence of being in charge leaving him when they were finally as naked as could be in front of one another. Tom settled his body against her once again, this time hissing when he felt the heat of her cunt, and the familiar slickness of her desire against his cock. Unbidden, his hips thrust against her, some primal instinct guiding him.

She seemed to like it as much as him, because she was rewarding him with a delighted gasp. Her lips kissed him wherever she could, eager to show him how much she wanted him.

Again, he rocked against her, amazed at how easy it was to slide against her. He wanted to do it _again and again and again_ , so long as she would continue to make those little moans through parted lips.

It wasn't enough for her though. She met his eyes, her pupils so large that he nearly couldn't see the brown any more, and gave him a look of _such_ longing. "Please Tom, please," she begged.

Her words were nearly his undoing. His eyes slipped closed while he tried to regain control of himself. Although Tom might not have lost his virginity yet, he wasn't completely clueless about sex. He knew the mechanics of it enough to not embarrass himself. Grasping his cock, he slid the head along her slit until he found that small valley. Guiding himself, he entered inch by inch until he was fully seated inside of her.

If he'd thought that being pressed against her wet sex had been lovely, being inside of her was life changing.

Tom took a moment to look at her. Her eyes were shut tightly while she took short breaths out of parted lips, her body adjusting to the intrusion. He was grateful for the pause, because he was sure he'd spill himself in her if he tried to move now. Once she'd relaxed, he knew it was safe to continue.

Pulling out, he thrust back forward, pleased to hear Hermione's surprised squeak of pleasure. Her own hips pressed against him, apparently wanting to be as close to him as possible. It took the pair of them a few strokes to work out the rhythm that words best for them, but they were both quick learners.

He hadn't known anything could feel quite this good. Tom stared into her eyes, surprised by the connection he felt with this witch. She was perfect, she was his, she was everything.

Tom was chasing that familiar peak with each stroke pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He pressed his face into her crook of Hermione's neck, his nose breathing in her scent. He was surrounded by her and he couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be.

And then, he snapped, with one last thrust, burying himself deep in her welcoming body. The pleasure rolled over him in waves, and he heard himself calling out her name again and again. Her cries filled his ears and he could feel her tightening around him, as if she didn't want to give him up.

 _Hermione_.

He wasn't sure how long he laid boneless on top of her, but she wasn't complaining. Eventually, he rolled off of her, utterly spent. Pulling her body to coil against him, Tom wanted nothing more than to drift off to sleep, listening to the rhythmic sound of her breathing.

But he knew it was too dangerous.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're mine," he repeated. "I'm not letting you go."

Hermione gave him a little noise of agreement, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

"I want to stay, but I think we both know I need to go," he said, letting the disappointment bleed into his voice. He stood from the bed reluctantly, finding his briefs and trousers and pulling them on. "I'll come back as soon as I can," he promised.

Once he was dressed, he pulled the covers up over Hermione, tucking her in. She looked like a princess, with her hair all over the pillow, cheeks pink and lips parted.

He pressed one last kiss on her cheek. "Until next time."


	11. June 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows after last chapter! I can't believe there are only two chapters left after this one...it's really gone by quickly. If you are celebrating, I hope you have a good, safe Thanksgiving later this week! You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought about chapter eleven and be on the lookout for chapter twelve next week!

**June 1945**

Tom missed Hermione.

It was hard not to think of her every waking moment now that he knew what she felt like under him. And, they were barely separated by distance. She was just a short walk through the castle away, if he wanted to see her, even if it was only for a moment.

But, Tom was still an ambitious wizard and he had other wants and desires _besides_ just being with Hermione. If he wanted to continue on his path to power, he knew that he needed to take time revising for his NEWTs. It wasn't merely enough to pass his exams - he needed to do the _best_ at them, to prove to everyone that he was as capable as he said he was.

He spent most nights in the library with the rest of his friends, studying up until curfew. Even Gus and Louis, who were normally keen to slag off studying, had joined them knowing that the NEWTs were important to their futures.

Tom supposed it was good for Hermione to get used to him not being around all the time. Of course, when he was working at the Ministry after graduation, he would be away from her for stretches of time. He could at least hope to come home to her after a hard day's work.

Hermione might have her own ambitions outside the home, too. He wasn't so stupid as to believe that she would be happy being a homemaker. And, despite his wishes that he could lock her up in a tower of his own making, he knew that Hermione would kill him before submitting to such a future.

She'd been quite reticent about what she wanted to do with her life, but he supposed it would be hard to focus on the future when you were a captive. She was a very talented witch, though, so he was sure that she would be able to do whatever she set her mind to. He would possibly need to speak with Brutus about pulling some strings to allow her to sit for examinations over the summer if she was going to work somewhere.

But all of that would have to wait for when they left Hogwarts.

When the library closed down for the evening, the Slytherin boys would make the journey down to the dungeons together. Louis and Gus would complain that they'd never studied so hard in their lives, and Alfie would tease that maybe they wouldn't have to if they bothered to keep up with their lessons. Evan would repeat his nervousness for the Charms exam, and Edmund would give off that air of superiority like he wasn't even concerned about his results.

And Tom would be there, reassuring them that they had their plans and if they just kept to them, everything would be alright.

For a brief moment, Tom was struck by how much he would miss this odd sort of familiarity he'd created with these five wizards when he left Hogwarts in just a few weeks. Tom never felt entirely close to any of them, but there was a sort of fondness for the same conversations he'd have with them over and over again. He almost regretted that he hadn't been soaking up all of these memories over the past months.

Once they left Hogwarts, everything would change.

When they got back to the dorms, there was no more time for nips of firewhiskey, laughing around the fireplace in their room. They would all have to retreat to their individual beds to try to squeeze in a little more reading before falling into an exhausted sleep.

Tonight, though, Edmund couldn't hold out his curiosity any longer, and started pressing Tom for his plans. "So, where are you going to go after you get off the Hogwarts Express? Just stay in Hogsmeade until the interviews?" he questioned.

Professor Merrythought had finally announced her retirement earlier that month, so it became clear that Hogwarts was going to need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

 _And a Transfiguration Professor,_ Tom thought with an evil little smirk.

He hadn't told his friends about abandoning his plans to take over the position, or that he'd taken Abraxas's father up on his offer of patronage. Truthfully, he wasn't ready to answer all their questions or deal with Edmund's temper tantrum once he realized his family's "generosity" had been rejected.

Tom didn't fancy telling them that his direction had changed, most notably about muggleborns. It wasn't as if he wanted to befriend loads of them or treat them as equals, really, but he just didn't see the point in killing them all any more. And, he wasn't sure how the staunch purebloods he surrounded himself would take it.

Louis and Gus would follow the group and Evan could be easily convinced as his family was more centrist. Tom wasn't sure how Alfie would take it. His father had written the pureblood directory that established the _sacred twenty-eight_ after all. But, if he was still able to experiment with his dark hobbies and sadistic magic, Tom thought he would fall in line like the rest.

Edmund certainly would be the biggest hurdle. He had the potential to sway the others. But, Tom hoped that he'd established himself as the leader of their cohort well enough to stave off any mutinies.

The uncertainty twisted his stomach into knots.

He also knew that he would have to tell his friends about Hermione _eventually_. Salazar, he was not looking forward to that conversation. Not only did he want to keep her all to himself, but he wouldn't stand for them disparaging her.

"Things have changed, Edmund. I've got a flat arranged for after school in London," Tom said, trying to brush off the conversation a little bit longer.

"London? But won't you be moving back to Hogwarts soon enough?" Edmund asked, a hint of sharpness in his voice.

Tom shook his head. "I no longer intend to become a Professor. Things have changed," Tom answered.

"Well, when were you going to tell _us_ that?" he countered.

"As soon as the NEWTs were over," Tom responded coolly. "It's more important to focus on doing well on our exams rather than considering this path or that. None of it matters if you don't get the marks to do what you want."

"Of course, Tom," Evan said, breaking the tension between the two of them. "I'm glad to hear that you won't be cooped up here. I've always said I think you could do brilliantly in government."

"Thank you, Evan," Tom said with a nod. "I think my skills might be best used directly."

Once he had the approval of one of his friends, it seemed that the rest weren't too bothered. Except for Edmund, of course. "Well, I for one can't wait to hear all about _your_ plans," he said with a frown."

"Right when we are done with exams," Tom said with a huge fake smile. "We can celebrate with some of that Malfoy champagne and talk all about the future."

Edmond's frown deepened. "Yes, the Malfoys always seem to have the best champagne, don't they?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders. Edmund was catching on quickly, and it wouldn't do him any good if Lestrange continued with his line of questioning. Instead, he retreated to his bed and bid the other Slytherins goodnight.

He could push off this conversation another few weeks.

* * *

The next opportunity that Tom found to visit Hermione was during his assigned rounds. He barely took the time to look around the castle knowing that most of the students would be too absorbed in revisions of their own to bother getting into too much mischief.

His feet carried him all the way to the Dark Tower without having to think too much of the way. When he got to the top of the stairs, he opened the door, eager to talk to Hermione after a long time apart, hoping that she hadn't already gone to sleep for the evening.

He was pleased to find her spread out on the settee as usual. She barely looked up from the book she had her nose in. On top of her head sat the sapphire diadem, making her look like some sort of fairytale princess, with her long, wavy hair tousled around her shoulders.

Tom almost wanted to say something when she didn't have a greeting and a kiss for him, but he also knew that she was invested in her work. There would be times that he was so focused he'd forget to eat, so he knew better than to hold it against her.

He did greet her with a smile when he joined her on the settee, giving her leg an affectionate squeeze.

Immediate, Hermione scowled at him. "Hi Tom," she said tersely, before paging through the book a bit more.

His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "Hi Hermione," he answered, wondering what he could have possibly done that would have caused her ire. "Are you upset that I didn't come by sooner? Because I've been hard at work studying for my NEWTs."

Her head snapped up to look at him. "No, not entirely, though it would have been nice to know that you were going to be busier than usual," she responded. "I'm _upset_ because I've been trapped in this bloody tower for over ten months now and I am no closer to getting out than I was the first day!" she explained, sounded breathless and desperate.

"That's not true," he countered, wanting her to recognize all the progress she'd made. All the progress he'd _helped_ her make. "You can do wandless magic now and you know more about the wards that are keeping you in here."

"Oh what good is wandless magic if there isn't _any_ way to break the blood wards?" she asked, her breath hitching in her throat. And then she started crying.

It took Tom rather by surprise to suddenly have Hermione's face pressed against his chest, huge sobs wracking her body. Her fingers found purchase in the fabric of his crisp white school shirt, wrinkling it.

Tom had never really made it a practice to comfort a witch before. He generally left that up to the female prefects, and now the Head Girl. And while he'd seen Hermione cry before, there was something about her anguish this time that had him wanting to make it all better. He lifted his hand and let it smooth down the back of her hair, until it was resting on her back.

"It's okay, Hermione," he said quietly, feeling his voice rumble against her cheek. "You are going to walk out of this tower soon."

She shook her head back and forth. "No I'm not," she said, petulant. "I'm never going to get out of this bloody tower. Dumbledore has never even suggested that he will let me go."

Tom frowned, but didn't stop holding the upset witch. Had she not figured out the secret yet? Had she not realized the remedy to her situation? "I promised you, Hermione," he told her. "Don't you trust me to get you out of here?"

She pulled back from him, a fresh round of tears in her eyes. "I believe that you are going to _try_ ," she said soundly absolutely crushed. "But we are running out of time, Tom. In just a few weeks you will be graduating from Hogwarts and never set foot in here again. And you are going to leave me behind in this blasted tower. It won't be long before you forget about me."

He wanted to laugh at her, but he knew that it would only make her more upset. How could she possibly think that he could ever forget about her? She was the first witch to challenge him, the first witch to hold him, the only person to nearly equal him in intelligence. She'd taken his virginity. She'd shared herself with him.

It was impossible for him to _ever_ forget her, even if he lived a hundred lifetimes.

"I'm not going to leave you here," he repeated. "I could never ever leave you here." He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Couldn't she see how affected he was by here?

Hermione sniffled. "You are already so absorbed into your NEWTs, you hardly come to see me," she said. "It's not that I don't think the NEWTs are important - because _of course_ they are - but it's just...you see how easy it would be to just forget me here."

Tom gave her an encouraging smile then. "Oh, sweet Hermione," he said with a little chuckle. "Even when I am up to my eyes in Charms and Potions work, I do not forget about you. If I were a different wizard I might skip NEWTs entirely if it meant spending more time with you," he explained.

Hermione looked absolutely horrified at the suggestion that he would do something like that. "I would never ask you to skip the NEWTs," she said, looking horrified. "It's just hard not to be bitter when I'm left alone in here time and time again, without anyone to talk to. I should be in my seventh year, too. I should be taking my NEWTs, too."

He could fully understand what Hermione was feeling. It was hard that she was having to miss out on such an important year of her life, for nothing else than Dumbledore's suspicions. But, he also couldn't stand the idea of her getting caught up in an endless loop of feeling sorry for herself.

"Allow yourself some time to be bitter, but be sure that you are directing it at the right person," Tom instructed her. "I am not the person who has locked you in here, so I don't deserve your ire."

"Of course, Tom," she agreed, looking a little forlorn at the thought. "And, you should believe that I am angry at Dumbledore."

Her face hardened, her jaw set. But then her lower lips began to quiver and she was crying again. "I _hate_ him so much," she said fiercely. "And to think that I ever thought that I could trust him."

She sat there for a moment, lost in her own little world. Then she reached up and grabbed the Diadem off her head and threw it down on the ground. "This stupid thing must not _work_ either because it isn't giving me any of the answers that I need," she added.

Tom wanted to scold her for having a little temper tantrum, but he knew then that she must be close to facing the reality of the matter. "Are you sure that it's just not giving you the answers you _want?_ " he questioned, prodding her.

Hermione did not answer him. Instead, she lurched forward until she was pressed against him again. Wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, she buried her face against his chest, crying a little bit harder than she had before.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders again, before conjuring a blanket to cover her legs. Even if it took all night, he would sit with her as long as it took for her to calm down. Tom was not an understanding or empathetic wizard in general, but with Hermione he knew this was an extraordinary circumstance, and he would give her a little bit of latitude.

The fire was nearly reduced to embers when she stopped crying and Tom thought for a moment that she might have actually fallen asleep on him.

But then, her little voice caught his attention. "Tom?" she asked.

"Hmm?" he answered.

"What's it like...what's it like to kill someone?" she asked, her voice sounding even smaller than before.

Inside of him, his pride for this little witch in his arms grew. So, she'd finally come to face the facts, had she? She finally had to acknowledge that the only way she was getting out of this tower was to kill Dumbledore and drop his blood wards. He knew that she didn't relish the idea, but he knew she would be better for it. She needed to take control of her life back once and for all.

"I know you've done it before, if you'd made a horcrux," she added, shyly.

"I have," he agreed. He wasn't bragging, merely stating. "It's easier than you'd like to believe it is. The spell is simple and has no complicated movements. All you need to do is give yourself over to your id."

"You make it seem so trivial," she scoffed. "Like anyone could do it."

"Oh, I fully believe that anyone _can_ do it," he agreed. "The simplicity of the spell and the wand movement suggests that it was one of the very first spells. It's a primal part of wizards - to either kill or be killed - and I believe that instinct remains in all of us."

"Such an academic," she said with a hint of a smile in her voice. "It's one thing to think that you might be able to do it...and it's another thing to actually try. What if I can't cast it?"

Tom hadn't really thought about that. He'd never once thought that he wasn't capable of taking his father's life, or his grandparents' lives. The thought of getting revenge on them for casting him aside so easily had filled him with a confidence that he rarely possessed.

He was sure that Hermione would feel the same way when she eventually had to face off with Dumbledore. That the desire to get out of her cage would push her forward to do whatever it took to get out of there.

"You won't fail, Hermione," he said, pressing his lips to her temple. "When the time is right, I know that you'll be able to accomplish anything you set your mind to."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Hermione answered, sounding forlorn. "Tell me about our flat. Tell me about your job."

"The flat is in London. Malfoy considers it small, but to me, it sounds massive. I've never had my own room before, not really," he said, thinking that it would be odd to be in the luxury of a family like the Malfoys for the first time in his life. He was certain he could get used to it. "Abraxas has assured me that his mother has hired the best interior designer to decorate it. I didn't know that was a job."

Hermione laughed low in her throat. "Well, at least it won't be empty when you get there," she teased. "I'm sure that you will make it your own."

"With your help of course," Tom added, giving her a gentle squeeze. He wasn't sure if Hermione was the sort of witch that cared about decor and the like, but he wanted her presence to be known, too.

"And what about your other friend, have you told him yet that you are not going to take him up on his offer?" she asked, her interest piqued. "Lestrange?"

The way that she said the name made it clear that she knew more than she was letting on. "Are you familiar with Edmund in your future?" he countered.

"Only that he will have two odious sons," Hermione told him. "And the elder is married to a horrible witch. She frightens me."

Tom filed that away for future use. He was sure that whoever the witch that Edmund's son married would not be frightening to Hermione by the time that they met again. Tom wasn't even sure that they _would_ marry again. Perhaps him ignoring Edmund's offer of patronage would push him in an entirely different direction. It was unknown.

"But you won't get out of telling me," Hermione said, poking him in the abdomen. "What did Lestrange do?"

"I haven't told him exactly that I am accepting Malfoy's patronage instead yet," Tom responded. "But when I do, he will be okay with it."

"What if he's not?" Hermione pressed further. "He seems like a stubborn wizard."

"Edmund might be stubborn, but I am the one who gets what he wants," Tom said, not caring if it sounded boastful. It _was_ true after all. "And if he doesn't fall in line, I'll handle him."

Hermione shivered in his arms, perhaps not expecting such a bold claim from him. She didn't argue with him, though, perhaps recognizing that it was an inevitability. He was glad that she was able to recognize the sort of wizard he was.

"As for my job," Tom continued, not wanting to leave the stale bitterness of the conversation about Edmund to linger between them. "I've been doing a bit of research on the Secretary that I will be working for."

"What is he like?" Hermione asked.

"He's a half-blood, but from a wealthy family," Tom described. "Sounds like he doesn't do much of anything, so it will be a good chance for me to make my mark on the Ministry. So long as he doesn't just take credit for the work I've done."

Hermione murmured in agreement, apparently having dealt with that before. "You won't let him," she said confidently. "I'm sure you will find underhanded ways of letting everyone know whose work it really is."

"Underhanded?" Tom responded with a smirk. "You know me far too well, Hermione. In any case, I don't think he will remain in his job for long. I've got to work my way up, and I won't do that by just being an Under Secretary forever."

"Very true," she agreed.

"And what will you do, Hermione?" he asked. "I'm sure I can arrange for you to sit your NEWTs after a bit of independent study."

She shrugged her shoulders. "It still seems too surreal to imagine walking out of this tower," she said, quietly. "But I suppose a period of independent study sounds nice. Maybe I'd pursue a mastery. In my own time, I was interested in becoming a Charms Mistress."

"I'm sure you'll be able to do just that," he promised her. "You'll do whatever you want when you get out of here."

* * *

Tom made one last short visit to see Hermione to explain that NEWT week was due to begin and he was sure he'd be too swamped in testing to possibly visit her. He was taking a record number of exams, and he could barely keep his schedule straight as it was. He couldn't risk getting caught up in his witch for an afternoon and missing his Arithmancy exam, even though he was certain it would be an enjoyable afternoon.

Hermione understood and gave him a lingering kiss before wishing him luck on his exams. He could still see the fear in her eyes when she bid him goodbye, a small part of her still concerned that he wouldn't actually come back to her despite his promises. It annoyed him, but he could also understand that she was under a lot of stress being left alone for so long.

He would just have to prove all of her fears wrong.

But first he had a ton of NEWTs to get through.

Several of his courses contained both a written and a practical examination, which meant double the preparation. He breezed through his Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts practicals the first day, receiving high praise from his Professors and the Examiners. Then in the afternoon he sat for the Care of Magical Creatures written exam and the Potions exam.

The following day, he started with the written portion of his Transfiguration exam, followed immediately by the practical. It was the only exam he was really concerned about, seeing as Professor Dumbledore was in the room and he wouldn't put it past the bitter wizard to try and get Tom's scores lowered in some way. Luckily, the Ministry Examiner seemed quite taken with him, so even Dumbledore's sour face couldn't bring down Tom's spirits.

In the afternoon, he had an extra long Arithmancy exam. Because Arithmancy didn't have a practical exam, it seemed that they had decided to double the written portion. By the end of it, his hand was aching but he was sure he'd gotten it correct.

The next day he had the written portions of Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, followed by the Potions practical and a written exam for Ancient Runes.

The following day, he could practically taste all of the Outstanding Grades he was sure to get. He had the Herbology written exam in the morning and the practical in the afternoon. Tom found it almost insulting that the only thing they were asked to do was to replant mandrakes, seeing as that was an assignment they had completed in second year. But, he couldn't complain too much.

By the end of the week, he could say that he was exhausted from the testing, despite being thoroughly well prepared. His quill hand ached from all of the writing he'd been forced to complete and his shoulders hurt from being hunched over all the time.

He wanted nothing more than to rush up to the Transfiguration corridor and celebrate for the evening with Hermione (perhaps in the bath even), but he knew that he could not neglect his friends at a time like this. Not only would it prompt too many questions, but he was sure that they were beginning to be a little resentful at being alone for so long.

So, he trudged down to the dungeons to spend the evening in their dorm together, even though there were nowhere he'd rather be than in the Dark Tower.

Evan had charmed some of the house elves into bringing their dinner into their dorm room, and Alfie had conjured a table for them all to sit at. They invited Abraxas and Neville, as well as Graeme Greengrass, who they would be initiating into the Knights of Walpurgis later that evening. The trio of fifth years had also survived their OWLs and were just as ready to drink as the older boys.

Abraxas, as expected, had brought enough champagne to go around, but they also indulged in Edmund's firewhiskey. Tom found Lestrange so terribly desperate, wanting to be needed by the rest of the Slytherins, but he would put up with him as long as he was useful.

Edmund _did_ try to direct the conversation to what Tom was going to do after he left Hogwarts, still left in the dark about his plans. Tom was pleased that he had an excuse in the form of Graeme to put it off a little bit longer. He just told Edmund that would have to wait until they were all initiated.

Graeme was keen to go through the ritual this time, having dealt with all the hazing of his friends and the older boys on his own. It was clear, though, that he didn't want to be the only one of his friends left out, even if he wasn't particularly keen on blood purity. Tom was pleased to see that the fifth year didn't even shout when he received his brand, officially bringing him into their little _social club_.

Seeing the newly burnt skin, shiny and pink on the inside of Graeme's bicep gave Tom pause.

He was reminded of a conversation he'd had with Hermione earlier in the year, when she'd admitted to jinxing a contract to give the signer boils should they break the terms. He began to wonder if he could incorporate some sort of similar magic into the brands so that they had a little more weight to them.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. That would prevent any wizard who wore the brand from betraying him. Of course, he wouldn't jinx them with boils...that was too juvenile. The consequences would need to be more serious than a mere cosmetic misfortune. And the brand would need to be made in loyalty to _him_ , not just to the Knights of Walpurgis. This would prevent someone like Edmund from even thinking about kicking up a fuss if he didn't like something Tom had decided.

It really seemed like a perfect solution.

He would have to speak to Hermione about it the next time he saw her.


	12. July 1945

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! The next chapter will be an epilogue, from Hermione's POV, so you will get a little glimpse at her thoughts (finally!). I hope that you all enjoy this one. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of chapter twelve and be on the lookout for chapter thirteen next week!

**July 1945**

Tom found time to sneak off and celebrate his NEWT successes with Hermione in the days after the exams were completed. Though he didn't have his _official_ results yet, he was certain that he'd received an Outstanding in every subject he attempted.

"Do you know how I've done? From your time?" he asked, cheekily. Hermione seemed to know a lot about his life from researching her enemy.

"Sorry, I can't say that I've tracked down your marks before," she answered with a roll of her eyes. "But what I do know is that everyone said you were an exceptional student, so I am sure you did great."

He was a little appeased to hear that, even if he would have liked the early confirmation. And, if by some horrible twist of fate he hadn't received top marks, he knew that he'd at least passed the five NEWTs required to work at the Ministry of Magic. Not that it mattered when he had Brutus Malfoy willing to pull some strings for him.

Hermione bit her lip, perhaps worried that she'd hurt his feelings. "I also _know_ you did great, because I know how hard you studied for the exams," she added shyly.

"I did study a lot, but I think my natural skill would have let me pass without even trying," he said smugly. Seeing Hermione's annoyed face, he couldn't help but smirk at her. "What? Hermione, you have natural talent, too. You shouldn't be afraid to admit it."

"It just sounds so conceited when you say it like that," she said, her eyes dropping down to her lap.

"Is that a surprise to you?" he asked, knowing it was not the first time that such a thought must have crossed her mind. They had not started out as friends, obviously, and he was sure she'd had even more uncharitable thoughts about him.

Hermione raised her hand to give him a light swat on the arm, only for Tom to catch her hand. "I wish I could have celebrated with you instead of my Knights," he said, bringing each fingertip up for a kiss. "Your company would have been infinitely preferable than listening to Evan and Edmund sniping at one another all night."

He noted her quick intake of breath when he kissed her. "Your Knights?" she asked, after a brief pause.

"Yes, the Knights of Walpurgis...just a group of like minded Slytherins," he explained. "Does the group not survive to your time? That would be disappointing."

"Not that I am aware of," Hermione said, with a scrunched up nose. "Your followers are called Death Eaters in my time."

Even Tom, who had a certain flair for the dramatic, thought that Death Eaters sounded terribly over the top and he couldn't imagine any grown wizard proudly calling himself that. He was glad to know that he had a group of people who supported him, though.

"You know, when I was with them, I started to think about something you told me not that long ago," he added, hoping it sounded off hand. "About how you jinxed a contract to curse a signer should they break the terms. I was wondering if you thought that could be incorporated into a physical mark. A brand, perhaps?"

Hermione gave him a horrified look. "Must you always remind me of my worst behaviors, Tom?" she asked, her cheeks turning pink.

"That can hardly be seen as your worst behavior," he said with a frown. He wanted to encourage this creative, devious side of her, not have her embarrassed by the way she acted. "They knew that there could be consequences should they break their promises."

"Yes, but I didn't _tell them_ that's what was happening when they signed the parchment!" Hermione argued back.

Obviously, it was still a touchy subject for her, but Tom liked the idea even more if they didn't know about the curse until after the brand was given. But, he could tell Hermione that, not when she was clearly upset. He knew that he'd be able to get more details about how she'd achieved it later, if he posed it as a purely academic exercise.

"Let's not talk about it any more," Tom suggested. "I just want to enjoy a little time with you before I have to tell my Knights that plans have changed with regards to my future. Thanks to you." He pressed a kiss to her lips.

Hermione relaxed into the kiss, happy to be able to think about nothing for a while. But then she pulled back, blinking at him. "What's the rush? Surely it could wait until after you are settled," she asked.

"Because tonight is our last night in Hogwarts. Everyone will be on the train back to London tomorrow," he explained. He watched as Hermione began to hyperventilate, perhaps at the thought of being left alone once again. "Don't worry, I promise that I won't leave the castle without you, even if it means finally going to see Dippet about it."

"Please don't abandon me here, Tom," she begged, her fingers digging into his shoulders, holding onto him as tightly as she could.

"I would never," he swore, and knew that it was true. He would do whatever it took to get her out of the tower, even if it meant killing Dumbledore himself. He almost felt a little guilty knowing that he could have freed her months ago, but didn't. It wasn't enough to kill Dumbledore. He wanted _her_ to do it. To finally free _herself_ from her captor. To take her life back.

She gave him a little smile, but he could see the lingering doubt in her brown eyes. "I would never forgive you if you did," she answered.

"I believe you," he agreed, knowing that Hermione was as stubborn as he was, and she could undoubtedly hold a grudge. "But I have to go now, get a few last minute things in order. Just think, tomorrow, we will be toasting to our successes in London."

Hermione laughed a little bit, but held onto him a little tighter. Then after a beat, she let him go. Tom felt a surge of emotion at the realization that Hermione trusted him. He wasn't sure why it felt so important to him, but it did.

He didn't want to let her down.

It was painful to lock her away in the Dark Tower, for hopefully the last time, but he knew it needed to be done. It was only compounded by the fact that he did not want to go share the news with his friends, but he knew that he needed to. If he waited any longer, it would only make it more difficult for them to accept.

When he returned to the Slytherin dorms, he made a quick stop to the room the fifth years shared to collect Abraxas, Neville and Graeme. The rest of the seventh year boys were already gathered in their dorm room, working to pack their school trunks for the final time. It was going to be hard to say goodbye to Hogwarts after so much time together.

Tom spent some time making small talk with the guys before he could put off his task no longer. "I would like to talk about my plans after school," Tom said firmly.

" _Finally_ ," Edmund snapped, clearly unhappy to have been left in the dark for so long.

"I've spoken with Abraxas's father and he's offered to act as a patron for me," Tom said, being sure to hold his head high. He wouldn't let any of these sharks think for a second that he wasn't _perfectly_ comfortable with the arrangement. "I'll be accepting a job as an Under Secretary to the Minister of Magical Cooperation."

"Good on you, Tom," Alfie said with a smirk. "I've always thought you were more a politician than a professor."

"I can see us toasting to Minister Riddle in a few years," Louis said with a grin.

"What?" Edmund asked, clearly annoyed. "Magical _Cooperation_? _You_ are going to be working with the muggles?"

"Yes, I've had a change of thought on the mudbloods," Tom said, knowing that this would be the hardest pill to swallow. "Even if we shut them out of our world completely, it doesn't rid the world of mudbloods. That chances the muggles learning about us and even using them against us. Better to bring them into our world earlier so that they turn their back on the muggles."

Everyone looked a bit stunned, except for Abraxas who had heard this argument once before. "But what about blood purity?" Evan asked first, sounding a little bit dumbfounded. "Why would we let inferiors into our world?"

"It's because of this _mystery witch_ of yours, isn't it, Riddle?" Edmund accused. "She's gotten into your head and mixed things around!"

"It has nothing to do with _my witch_ ," Tom answered crossly. "Even though the mudbloods might be inferior, that doesn't mean that they don't have a place in our society. And some exceptional mudbloods might be incredibly useful to us, despite their inferior beginnings."

Edmund, ever the purist, was not willing to let this go. "If it's not because of a witch, then it's because you are nothing more than a half-blood yourself," he sneered.

Tom felt rage bubbling up in his chest, having Edmund throw his blood purity in his face. "And you've always looked down on me for that, haven't you Lestrange?" Tom countered with a sneer of his own. "But even your blood purity wasn't enough to get people to like you more than me. Even here in Slytherin. Do you wonder why that is?"

He watched gleefully as Edmund sputtered, cheeks going red. The other wizard looked to the rest of the Knights, wondering if they would join in his teardown of Tom, only to find them firmly on the side lines.

"I'll tell you why," Tom continued, giving Edmund a big smile, relishing the thought of rubbing salt into the proud wizard's wound. "Because even though you might be pureblood, the fact that I have a muggle father doesn't erase the fact that I am the more powerful wizard. Everyone here knows it."

Lestrange made a few noises of disagreement.

But Tom wasn't finished. "And not only am I more powerful than you, Edmund, but I'm the only one here willing to go as far as it takes to seize power. You could have stood up to me countless times over the years, but you _always_ fall in line," Tom added, furious. "Just like the _follower_ you will always be."

Despite his best wishes, it was clear that Edmund had no kind of response to the truth that Tom was leveling at him.

Tom still needed to know that he was on his side, though. It was now or never for Edmund Lestrange. "So, are you going to go along with the plan or not?" Tom demanded, wanting nothing more than to be done with this conversation and return to his witch.

Edmund looked strickened at being so called out. Even though it was clear he still held resentment for Tom, it was also clear that he didn't have the guts to do anything about it. "Of course, Tom. Whatever you think is best," he choked out.

"Whatever _I_ think is best," Tom said with a grin. "I like how that sounds. Now, does anyone else have any grievances to bring up?" he asked, peering into each of his friends faces, daring them to speak out against him.

Alfie was the first to speak. "No, Tom," he said with a grin. "I trust you. And even though things might have changed, I trust that we'll still be able to do whatever we want when you're Minister one day."

"Sure, I support you, too, Tom," Gus said, a hint of fear in his eyes.

One by one, the rest of the Slytherins all gave their allegiance to Tom Riddle, even though he was a half-blood orphan with a muggle father. They all saw something more in him that they wanted to get behind.

Evan broke the tension. " _Salazar_ , Tom, you've got a witch now?" he teased. "When do we get to meet the witch that caught your eye?"

"Soon," Tom promised, with a smirk. He was ready to show Hermione off to the rest of the world. "Speaking of her, though, I need to go free her from an evil wizard's clutches. Abraxas, loan me some galleons. It can be an advance from what your father will pay me."

Abraxas didn't even bat an eye before reaching into the pocket of his robe and handing over more than enough galleons. Tom pocketed them himself, before bidding the rest of his friends good evening, wondering if he was about to leave total chaos behind. Was it wise to leave them alone to air grievances so soon after he'd told them his plans? He wasn't sure, but he knew that he'd made a promise to Hermione that he was going to keep.

The long walk up from the dungeons to the Transfiguration corridor seemed to take hours, sand slipping through the hourglass and passing him by. Of course, Tom knew it was only an illusion, as it was the last time he would have to make the journey. He bound up the stairs of the Dark Tower, pausing when he got to the door. Fishing the key out of his pocket, he put it in the lock and threw open the door, calling out to his witch.

"Hermione, are you-"

His words died on his lips when he saw that Hermione had company. Dumbledore stood next to her, looking at Tom with an eyebrow raised - not necessarily in surprise, but more like amusement.

"Oh, I see the two of you have met before," he said, a dangerous undercurrent in his jovial tone. "Hermione, you failed to mention this before."

"I-i-" Hermione stuttered, obviously unsure of what to do. Her face was deathly pale, and she was concerned - concerned for _him_.

"Why didn't you mention it, Hermione?" the professor repeated, his ire bleeding through.

Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes as she grew upset with being scolded. "You don't understand," she argued. "You left me in here for almost a year with no company and Tom visited me when I had _no one else_."

Dumbledore rounded to look at Tom, his face distorted by the moonlight streaming in from the window. "And _you_ ," he growled. "I told you not to go into the Dark Tower and here I learn that you've been visiting it all school year?"

Tom started laughing at the professor trying to scold him for visiting a poor witch that had spent the year trapped in Hogwarts. "What do you even have to say to me about it, Dumbledore?" he asked. "How can you live with yourself when you've trapped Hermione in here - a prisoner - for months and months on end. You are lucky I didn't report you to the Headmaster."

"And why didn't you, Tom?" Dumbledore asked, not batting an eyelash about the accusation. "Don't start acting like you are a saint when you could have let her free at any point."

Hermione looked confused for a moment at Dumbledore's suggestion, only to have her resolve harden. "It's not as if I didn't try to get out of here," she insisted. "But it was you that put blood wards up and prevented me from leaving the Tower!"

"Someday you will thank me for preventing you from destroying our world," Dumbledore insisted. "You couldn't be let free. Not with everything that you know. But I have a plan now." He reached out for Hermione's hand, wanting to pull her close.

But Tom was a bit faster. Drawing his wand, he leveled it at Dumbledore. "Step away from the witch, Dumbledore," he commanded, his voice deadly serious.

"Put your wand down," Dumbledore insisted, before drawing his own. "You don't want to start a duel that you can't finish."

That was enough to get Tom to act, casting the first curse Dumbledore's way, which was easily deflected. The two wizards circled around the room, mirroring one another, each trying to gain the upper hand. Tom wanted to get a better sense of his opponent and continued to throw spells Dumbledore's way, hoping to tire him or prompt him into going on the offensive.

But, Dumbledore was more principled than that. He merely blocked every curse and jinx, sending them spinning off in every which direction, destroying the Tower's extravagant decor piece by piece.

Hermione screamed as a slicing hex narrowly missed her and darted behind the overturned settee for cover. Her head peaked over the top, unable to take her eyes away from the duel, needing to know the outcome.

Because she wanted to be free of the tower.

But, also because she was worried about _him_. Because she cared about _him_.

Tom thought that their little duel might continue on as it was forever, until he finally managed to get a slicing hex past Dumbledore, catching him on the leg. Immediately, Tom could see the dark stain of blood seeping through the fabric, showing that Dumbledore was just as human as the rest of them.

Hermione gasped at the sight, her knuckles digging into the fabric of the settee as she leaned forward, wanting to see if Dumbledore was truly hurt.

Perhaps realizing how serious Tom really was, Dumbledore seemed to switch back on, finally pushed into being the attacker. Tom blocked a few of his spells, but he knew that he had to feign fatigue so that Hermione would step in. He knew that she would never feel truly free unless it was her that cast the killing blow to defeat her captor. She had to take her life back.

Seeing his opportunity Tom sidestepped a curse, letting his foot drag on the rug to _trip_ himself. He went sprawling, groaning when he hit the ground, his wand flying out of his hand and rolling away from him.

Dumbledore was quicker to act that Tom expected, menacing towards him before Tom even had the chance to see where his wand went. "You always were trouble, weren't you, Tom?" Dumbledore asked with that condescending tone of his. "I knew it from the moment I met you."

"I was a boy," Tom answered, scrambling backwards, trying to get away from the other wizard.

"I _tried_ to help you," Dumbledore continued, pointing his wand directly at Tom's face. "But you just kept making the wrong decisions."

Tom was unphased by the wand and openly sneered at the man. "I think I've done alright for myself," he sneered. "I've done _outstanding_ on my NEWTs and even have a job waiting for me at the Ministry."

"Why is it that no one can see through you except for me?" he asked out loud, though clear that he did not expect a response. Dumbledore was in almost total disbelief that no one else had caught on to Tom Riddle's tricks over the years.

Dumbledore loomed over him, his wand still pointing down, and Tom could begin to feel that trickle of fear that he _might_ actually kill him if he got the chance.

But he never would.

Because he had forgotten about the other occupant in the room.

 _Hermione_.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ her voice rang out clear in the Tower, making Dumbledore's wand fly from his hand in a great arc, landing in the witch's outstretched hand.

Both wizards turned to look at her. Tom imagined she looked like some sort of avenging valkyrie, with hate blazing in her brown eyes. And in her hand, she was holding Tom's wand firmly, pointing it at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was not going to be bested with a simple disarming spell, though, and it seemed that his duel with Tom was not over. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, Dumbledore hauled Tom up, pulling him face to face.

"Let him go," Hermione said, her voice wavering for the first time.

Dumbledore would not, and only gave her a bitter laugh. "Put that away, Hermione, we both know that you aren't going to use it," he taunted. "This is between me and Riddle."

"I said...put him down, Dumbledore," she repeated, sounding less and less confident by the minute as Dumbledore failed to react to his vulnerability.

Tom was growing annoyed, knowing that Hermione just needed to go for it. "Do it, Hermione," he insisted, pushing at Dumbledore's shoulders and hoping to get free from his grasp. "You know the spell, you know the movement, you just have to say the words."

She made a little noise of agony at the thought of it, but finally sent a stinging jinx strong enough for Dumbledore to drop to his knees and release Tom. When he recovered from the pain, it seemed like it was the first time that Dumbledore considered she might actually go through with it.

Turning to face her, Tom could see how Dumbledore's eyes widened when he recognized the look in her eyes - her primal need to be free, and him the only one standing in the way of it. Her wand hand was shaking as she fought with herself over what she _knew_ she had to do.

"Please, Miss Granger, let's talk about this," Dumbledore said, an edge of fear evident in his voice. "I can help you."

Tom couldn't let Dumbledore's words sway her off course. Dumbledore was only trying because he knew what Hermione could do it him. "He didn't help you before, Hermione. He locked you up in here," Tom insisted. "You know that there is no other option."

"Don't listen to him, Miss Granger - Hermione," Dumbledore continued, growing more desperate as the look in her eyes hardened. "He's trying to sway you down a dangerous path, a path you cannot win."

Hermione shook her head. Tom could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes as she agonized over her next move. Her wand hand was shaking, but she kept her wand pointed at Dumbledore. " _You_ made me do this," Hermione said, staring down at the wizard who had trapped her for so long. " _You've_ pushed me to this fate. And I can't-"

Her voice cut off as she closed her eyes tightly.

For a brief moment, Tom was worried that she was losing her edge. " _Do it, Hermione_ ," he commanded, as sternly as he dared. If she didn't go through with it now it would be the end of him. He needed her to take the leap of faith and kill Dumbledore. "Do you want to walk out of this Tower or not?"

"I can let you out!" Dumbledore pleaded, realizing just how dire the situation had become.

But it was the wrong thing to say.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, giving Dumbledore the coldest look that Tom had seen. Dumbledore had obviously had many chances to let Hermione go over the year, but that he would only offer it to her when she held the wand was not a very convincing bargaining chip to Hermione. Her wand hand was moving in a flash, the movement familiar to him. " _Avada Kedavra_ ," she whispered, only to seem genuinely surprised when the telltale green flash was produced from her wand.

Dumbledore was dead.

She dropped to her knees and started sobbing. Tom shuffled across the floor to wrap her tightly in his arms, knowing that she needed comforting. Her body was shaking while he held her, the lingering hum of magic in her veins. Even though she was upset now, he was exceedingly proud of his witch. He knew that she'd had it in her.

"I had to do it," she repeated several times, convincing herself. "Right, Tom?"

"Yes," Tom confirmed, even though he knew it wasn't the truth. He almost felt a little badly about pushing her to do this when it could have just as easily been him. But he needed to push her to her full potential. He needed something that would tie them together forever. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You did so wonderful. But we can't stay here. We need to get you out of here."

Hermione weakly nodded and let him help her stand up, though she was still leaning on him for support, emotionally wrought. She pressed his wand back into his hands.

"Are you ready to walk out of the Tower?" he asked, hoping to lift her spirits a little bit. Even though she was upset about taking someone else's life, he knew that she had to be excited at the prospect of getting out after so many long months in the Tower.

She stilled, suddenly nervous at the idea of being free after so long in a cage. But then, that familiar look of pure determination came over her face and she nodded. Tom guided her towards the door, standing on her side so that she wouldn't have to look at Dumbledore's lifeless body.

Hermione paused again at the door, suddenly worried. "But Tom, how will I get out of Hogwarts?" she asked, nervous. "I'll get stopped and then they will realize what I've done!"

"Don't worry about that, Hermione," he cooed. "Dumbledore did us a favor by not telling anyone that you were here. No one else knows about you but me. And as for getting out of Hogwarts, well, I've got that figured out, too."

Then, they descended the stairs together, giving Hermione her first glimpse of Hogwarts after months trapped in the Dark Tower. He was sure that part of her wanted to look around the school for what may be the last time, but she was also practical enough that she knew they had to get going.

When they got to the bottom, Tom did not lead her in the direction of the Headmaster's office or even towards the front entrance of the school. Instead, he ushered her towards Dumbledore's office. It was an easy matter to unlock the wizard's door, shutting it behind them quietly.

Tom cast a quick incendio in the fireplace to get the flames going. "Dumbledore had a personal floo connection set up when he was off fighting Grindelwald," he explained. "So, you will be able to use it now. Go to the Leaky Cauldron in London. Do you know it?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "But Tom-"

"Here is some money," he said, fishing out the handful of galleons that Abraxas had given him. "Take this and go rent a room there. I will join you tomorrow after Brutus shows me the flat, and then I will bring you with me."

"But Tom-"

"I promise that it's only for one day," he insisted, knowing that she was probably frightened about being alone after what she'd been through but his absence would be noted, and her presence would be to. There was no other option. "I will come for you tomorrow. I've kept my promises to you so far, haven't I?"

She nodded. "Of course," she agreed. "I'll..I'll go."

"Good," he answered in relief, glad to know that she would be looked after for the night. He found the floo powder and handed her a large handful.

"But Tom, my wand...I can't leave without my wand," she said, sounding distressed.

"I'm sorry, but there is no time to look for it, Hermione," he told her regretfully. "I will buy you a hundred wands if you want. We can even commission _your_ wand from Ollivander if you'd like. But for now, you will just have to settle for using Dumbledore's wand."

In the rising moonlight, Tom could see the nerves on Hermione's face beginning to fade as the realization that she was actually _free_ began to set in. She nibbled on her lower lip as she thought over his words, convinced that she should go then to the Leaky Cauldron. With one hand full of floo powder and the other pressed against her stomach, she surged forward to press a kiss to his lips.

"You better show up tomorrow," she insisted. "Or I won't go."

"I'll be there," Tom promised once again.

Hermione turned then and threw the floo powder into the fire, her destination clearly on her lips. She stepped into the green flame - into her freedom.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! This has been such a fun time travel type story for me to explore and I am so glad that so many of you enjoyed it as much as I did. I hope that you similarly like the epilogue that I've prepared. I did have like a jillion thoughts for alternate endings, so you can come chat with me over on tumblr (nauticalparamour) if you want to know more. I also I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of the epilogue!

**July 1945**

Hermione stumbled out of the floo, feeling completely disoriented when she was thrust into the hauntingly familiar Leaky Cauldron. It felt so _strange_ to finally see some other scenery than the same room she'd been confined to for the past months. The color and the noise and the people were almost overwhelming to her senses.

Shaking her head, Hermione knew that she had to get herself secure before she let her mind unwind, relieving the events of the night.

Boldly, she walked to the bar. The barkeep of her time was likely not even born yet, but the gruff man behind the counter was not any kinder to her than his eventual predecessor.

"I'd like a room for the night, please," Hermione said, her voice meek, not wanting to alert anyone to her presence.

The man at the bar looked at her skeptically. Maybe it was that she was a young witch on her own, or maybe it was the red and puffy state of her face from her tears. He looked her over, and Hermione was certain that he was about to deny her a place.

"I have galleons," she said, before pulling a couple of them out of her pocket. She knew that it shouldn't be more than a few, so she wouldn't show him everything she had. Refusing to cow to his look, Hermione leveled her chin and wouldn't back down. "Surely this should be enough for a room and a hot meal...and a firewhiskey."

She didn't normally drink firewhiskey, but she knew that she would need to unwind a bit after the night that she had.

Luckily for her, the gold was enough for him to look past whatever it was that had seemed questionable about her before. He showed her up the tiny staircase to a room down at the far end of the hall, where she wasn't likely to be disturbed. She had barely settled into the room when a house elf knocked at the door, bringing her dinner and firewhiskey.

The warm liquid did little to calm her nerves. While she wasn't that hungry, she mechanically ate the mash and chicken that was served to her, hoping to bring a little bit of normalcy into the situation. When the plate was clean, she had nothing to do but sit with her thoughts.

 _She was free_.

Godric, she was finally out of that thrice damned tower! For a while, she wondered if she might die there. She had clawed her way to freedom instead. But at what cost?

A brief flicker of Dumbledore's shocked face, permanently frozen in his death, slumping against the floor flashed through her mind. The warm glow of the killing curse was sure to stay with her for weeks to come, and she didn't think she'd ever be able to f0rget the powerful surge of magic that had come with it.

Hermione wanted to blame it all on Tom, but she knew she couldn't.

That's what frightened her.

Of course, Tom had been the one who had given her the idea, and he'd egged her on, but in the end, it was her pointing the wand at Dumbledore's kneeling form and it was her lips whispering the fatal words.

Tom had been right. It was easier than it should be to kill someone.

As soon as she'd done it, the guilt had come pouring in. No matter how much she tried to convince herself that it had been necessary, she would have to live with the fact that she was a _murderer_ now. If only Harry and Ron could see her now...

But it _had_ been necessary. Dumbledore had been the one to put up the blood wards, actively tying her release to his life. And, even though he'd promised that he could let her free, she wouldn't allow herself to be fooled by him a second time. She'd trusted him once, and it had ended up with her locked away without even her wand.

Suddenly, the four walls of the room seemed too confining. Locking the door behind her, Hermione slipped down the stairs and out through the pub to go wander around London for a while. The air was crisp enough to shock Hermione's mind back into the present, despite it being mid-summer. It was late enough that there weren't many people out and about, leaving Hermione alone to think about what she'd done.

She walked for what felt like hours. When she could stand it no longer, she returned to the Leaky and trudged her way up the stairs, before slipping into the bed, falling asleep quickly.

When she woke up, a tempus charm with Dumbledore's wand told her that it was past mid-day. She couldn't believe that she'd slept so late, but then she figured she must have been exhausted from the day that she had before.

Hermione bathed in the dingy little bathroom, only because it was something to do to pass the time before Tom showed up. Once she was done, she spent the afternoon in the bar, picking at fish and chips and drinking a butterbeer.

By sundown, she was growing certain that Tom must have abandoned her here. Now that she'd gotten out of the Tower and he'd graduated from Hogwarts, there was no need to see her any longer. Surely that was why he'd given her _quite_ so many galleons. Or perhaps he'd been suspected for Dumbledore's killing, if his body was found before the students left the school? She gave the Daily Prophet a cursory glance and found no mention of murder at Hogwarts, but perhaps that hadn't announced it yet.

The uncertainty of it had her stomach twisting in knots.

She wasn't sure what she would do _without_ Tom now. She needed him.

As her thoughts were spiraling down an uncomfortable series of what-ifs, a tug at her sleeve had Hermione turning in her chair. There, standing with that infuriating smirk on his face, was Tom. _Her_ Tom, looking expensive in a brand new set of robes.

"Hermione," he said, his deep voice instantly sending her heart racing. "Shall we go upstairs?"

She nodded, taking his offered arm, pointedly ignoring the odd looks from the barkeep. Already, she felt more grounded with Tom at her side. But, the temporary relief was suddenly overrun by the constant guilt that she felt for aligning herself with _this_ wizard. This odious, evil wizard.

He was on her the second that the door was shut behind them, giving her a blistering kiss, like he hadn't seen her in a year, rather than just a few hours. She deepened the kiss, surrendering to his charms, like she'd done over and over again.

After getting reacquainted with each other, Hermione pulled again from him. "How did things go with Brutus?" she asked. She hated the idea of relying on the generosity of a Malfoy (same as Tom, she mused), but she knew that she really had nowhere else to go if she didn't go with Tom. The galleons he'd given her would last her a week, maybe, but she had no identification or explanation for where she came from. And, she'd long ago given up the dream of returning to her proper time. Not only had she made too many changes, but she knew that no one had ever managed to go forward, and it wasn't from lack of trying.

"Excellent," Tom said, with a roll of his eyes. "Brutus was falling over himself to extend everything I could ever want to his new little pet project. He believes that I'll achieve great things."

Hermione bit her lower lip. "You will, though, won't you, Tom?" she asked. He was always so quick to shrug off any expectation someone else made of him, simply for the desire to forge his own path. To follow his _own_ ambitions.

"I'll achieve greater things than Brutus Malfoy could ever dream up," he boasted.

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. She was certain he was right, but he was simply so conceited about it.

"Would you like me to take you to the new flat?" he offered.

"Yes please," Hermione agreed. While she'd been glad to have somewhere to sleep the night before, she did not relish the Leaky's hospitality.

"Wait until you see it," Tom said with a smirk. "It's positively palatial, especially considering where you've been this last year."

Hermione flinched at the reference to her prison, but she was happy to follow him down the stairs. She let the barkeep know she was checking out of her room, and he was also happy to see her go. The young couple slipped outside into the alley, and Tom side-along apparated her without warning.

In a whip crack of magic, they were standing in the middle of an extremely luxurious flat. Hermione nearly gasped, unable to believe that she would be living there. "This is amazing," she whispered, taking in the massive living room, which would be perfect for entertaining.

"I'll show you to the bedroom," he said, grabbing her hand and leading her down a hallway to one of the corners of the building. The room was already furnished - spartan, but clearly of high quality. "The bathroom is through that door. Feel free to change anything you like. If you make a list, I can give it to Brutus and he'll purchase it for you."

Hermione could feel her cheeks go red. "And what does Malfoy think about me living here?" she asked. "Does he even know?"

Tom sat down on the bed. "He knows, of course," Tom said with an assuredness that only he could possess. "And if he cares, he will just have to get over it. Though, you will have to come with me to tea at Malfoy Manor to meet them."

That did not sound like Hermione's idea of a good time. The Malfoys she knew had been terrible bullies, and she didn't fancy spending a pleasant tea with these Malfoys, even if they were _graciously_ giving her a place to live.

She must have been making some sort of face, because Tom was rushing to assure her that it was only an afternoon. "Brutus will pull some strings so that you can sit your NEWTs," he promised, to sweeten the pot.

Hermione smiled at him, thinking it was sweet that he was trying to give her what she wanted. "You sound so sure of that," she said, with a sad smile, not reassured at all.

"He wants to keep me happy," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm going to get ready for bed," he announced then, walking into the bathroom.

Sitting on the edge of the sumptuous bed, Hermione felt her breath leave her in a rush, thinking about everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours. She had killed a man that she had looked up to and respected a great deal at one point, while she had kept someone she once believed to be a true evil alive.

When she had first come to the past, Hermione's immediate instinct was to eliminate the threat that was Tom Riddle.

But then she'd met him. He was nothing like what she expected he would be like. Charming, good looking, and intelligent, she quickly found herself being swept up by her lone visitor. When he first let her borrow his wand, she had wanted to turn it on him then and there, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she realized that he was changing her, preying on her own moral failings, molding her until she saw things _his_ way.

She had been in agony when she realized that she had fallen in love with him.

She watched him in the bathroom, his shadow looming large, and felt her wand tightened around Dumbledore's wand. Standing up, she was possessed by the knowledge that she could still do it. She could still kill Tom and save the wizarding world from his machinations. Walking to the edge of the bathroom, she stared at his back. He didn't even suspect her.

She _could_ kill him.

She exhaled abruptly at the thought. It didn't appeal to her, not anymore. Not when she loved him so much that it _ached_. Not when she was so completely under his spell that she would kill Dumbledore, just because he told her to. Not when she thought there might be a possibility that she was pregnant.

Tom turned to look at her, his eyebrows tightening in confusion when he saw her holding the wand with white knuckles. "Hermione? Are you okay?" he asked, on guard again.

She smiled and conjured up a toothbrush and toothpaste. "Sorry, I'm still getting used to having a wand again," she said with an embarrassed smile. "It's hard to let go of it right now."

Convinced, Tom nodded and made space for her at the sink.

* * *

**September 1945**

Tea with the Malfoys had to wait for several weeks, mostly because Tom was so busy at the Ministry of Magic. He'd taken the stuffy old institution quite by surprise.

Hermione was a little bit amused when Tom would come home and tell her about what he'd gotten up to during the day, and whose feathers he'd ruffled. She wasn't sure what they had expected when they offered a job to Tom Riddle, but her boyfriend certainly wasn't it. Maybe they thought that since he was such an exceptional student, he would be happy to stay within his own lane and keep his head down.

But, Tom was the most ambitious person that Hermione had ever met. He had plans for the Ministry that they didn't even know about, and he was willing to do whatever it took to push them along on _his_ timeline, not theirs.

His primary focus that summer had been to identify muggleborn orphans and to bring them into the wizarding world for adoption as soon as possible, not waiting until they were eleven. He passionately described the swathes of orphaned children in the muggle world as they had just come through a muggle war that had devastated large parts of the country to the Wizengamot. It was enough to tug on heartstrings and get his proposal accepted.

Hermione knew that his purpose was more sinister than the rosy picture he painted, and it was just the first stepping stone in whatever his master plan was going to be.

Still, it was an accomplishment, and she was happy to celebrate with him. Muggleborn orphans would still be adopted and given a better understanding of their magic well before entering Hogwarts. She pushed him to include provisions to protect the muggleborns so they could not be abused by their new wizarding families, which he eventually conceded to.

But, after his first bill was passed, the Malfoys would no longer accept whatever excuses he was giving them, and demanded that Tom and _his_ witch come to Malfoy Manor to meet with Brutus and his wife, Eglantine.

Hermione dutifully dressed in her prettiest green robes and pulled her hair into a fashionable style to accompany Tom to their home on an anonymous Sunday.

Brutus was not at all like she expected him to be. He did not share many features with Lucius Malfoy, save for his angular chin and white blond hair. Hermione mused that Lucius must have gotten his stature from Eglantine who was tall and willowy and perfect.

"This is Hermione," Tom said with a smirk that Hermione had quickly deduced meant he was quite pleased with her.

Eglantine took one look at her, before her face was horrified. Even with her flowy robes could not hide the secret that Hermione was keeping. "You are pregnant," she said, stunned. Hermione blushed, pressing a hand to her rounding stomach. Tom merely beamed beside her, looking excessively pleased.

When she had first told Tom, she had been nervous, but knew that she couldn't hide it from him once she confirmed it. He always had a way of figuring out that she was keeping something from him, before pestering her until she told him what it was.

She'd felt an irrational little sense of pride at the absolutely stunned look on his face when she told him they were expecting a child. It was almost as if he couldn't believe that it was a possibility, like he hadn't considered the consequences of having unprotected sex. But his surprise had quickly morphed into a sense of pride, pleased that she was carrying his child, and excitement for the baby to be born.

Even though they never spoke about it, she wondered if his commitment to her and their baby had anything to do with his own father's abandonment of him. Tom wouldn't dream of putting his own flesh and blood through such a horrible fate as the one that he'd lived.

"Yes, she is expecting," Tom said, unapologetically, and proud.

Hermione nibbled her lower lip, still affected by the absolute look of horror the Malfoys were sharing at the prospect. "I know it's not necessarily the timing that I would have _planned_ on," she tried to explain. "But, yes, it's true."

The older couple began to whisper to one another furiously, pointing at Hermione again and again. It was the first time that Hermione felt a shiver of fear at what they were planning. What if they decided that she was too much of a nuisance for the wizard they'd decided to back? What if they convinced Tom to get rid of her? Would he toss her aside if it meant achieving her goals?

Brutus turned back to face them, with a tight smile on his face. "It's not that she's pregnant," he started.

"Of course, purebloods are no strangers to conceiving children outside of wedlock," Eglantine added with a snort. "Just look at the Blacks. I swear they have to marry a mistress every generation!"

Hermione bristled at being called a mistress.

"It's just that the optics of this aren't great," Brutus continued. "Tom, with where you are going - which, if I might be so bold is being the Minister of Magic - having a child out of wedlock could be a _terrible_ scandal. It might hold you back."

Tom stiffened from his spot next to her. "Well, I'm not going to get rid of the baby _or_ Hermione, so I suggest that everyone just accept this and let it go," he said fiercely. "It's not a point of further discussion."

She felt an odd sort of love surge through her at his pronouncement. While Tom had never told her that he loved her, it was little moments like this that showed her all that she needed to know. It was clear that his feelings for her were just as deep as her own, and it made her feel so safe to know that he wanted her in his life.

Eglantine gave the surly young wizard a smile to mollify him. "Of course, we would _never_ suggest something like _that_ ," she explained. "We would like to suggest that you get married."

"And when my wife says we suggest it...well, we require it," Brutus said, puffing out his chest, perhaps knowing just how little Tom liked to be told what to do. "If I am to continue as your patron, then you will marry this witch."

"As soon as possible," Eglantine piped up again. "We can explain away short pregnancies, but there is a limit to believability."

Hermione felt as if she had been suckerpunched with the suggestion. Never in a million years did she imagine that the Malfoys would be arranging a marriage for her, but here they were. Her stomach twisted, wondering if Tom would have ever asked her to marry him if he hadn't been commanded to.

"We will get married," Tom agreed, sounding pleasantly surprised at the solution. "On the condition that you arrange for Hermione to sit her NEWTs. And, help her establish an identity here."

If Brutus knew _why_ she needed an identity, he did not hint at it. But, perhaps Tom had explained her role in Dumbledore's death and that was why he was so quick to agree. "Deal," he agreed, a smile half-hidden by his moustache.

Eglantine was nodding alongside, patting her husband on the arm. "Oh, Brutus, I know that you don't like to talk about your sister since she ran off to America," she offered. "But perhaps Hermione could be our long lost niece. It's not as if Aurelia can dispute it."

Brutus considered it before ultimately agreeing. Hermione knew that it was not simply out of the goodness of his heart that Malfoy had offered to give her a legitimate place in his family. It could only serve to further the Malfoys' social standing if their niece was the wife of the eventual Minister of Magic. But, it was good to know that she could ultimately begin to join society, after so long hidden in the shadows.

"We will have to begin planning the wedding immediately, Hermione," Eglantine said with a grin. "Something small - selective invites. I'll visit the flat sometime this week to start planning with you. We will have to pull Abraxas from Hogwarts for the weekend of course."

Tom looked amused. "I'm sure Abraxas will be eager to meet his long lost cousin," he quipped.

"Of course," Eglantine agreed with a nod.

A consummate hostess, Eglantine poured them all tea, before directing the conversation to more pleasant topics, the safest of which seemed to be Tom's recent success at the Wizengamot. She laid the praise on thick, and Tom was only too happy to soak it in.

Hermione felt his hand search hers out under the table and give it a tight squeeze. His touch grounded her, and made the afternoon seem less surreal than it was.

She was going to marry Tom Riddle. And she wasn't bothered by the idea. In fact, she was quite glad.

* * *

**June 1946**

No matter how much Tom had argued with her over the months, Hermione outright refused to make a horcrux for herself. She knew that her soul was torn after she had murdered Dumbledore - a crime that was never solved by the aurors and eventually deemed to be a suicide over his feelings for Grindelwald - she wasn't going to take part of her soul and put it in an object in a horrific ritual.

While they still fought about many things (namely, Tom's tendency to try to pick away at Hermione's morals), this was one thing that they came back to time and time again. Each of them was so passionate, so stubborn, so sure they had the right of it, that it was impossible for either of them to back down. They each used underhanded tactics to try to get the other to see their way of thinking.

He played on her mothering instincts, insisting that it was more important than ever to ensure that little Tom was looked after by both of his parents, and it wouldn't do to have Hermione end up dead by some accident. But still she refused.

That was the first time her husband's words _had_ given her some pause at the thought of what would happen to her sweet boy should she die unexpectedly. Instead of making a horcrux, though, she'd promised him that she would research some other method of longevity that did not involve horcruxes.

After she had sat for her NEWTs the prior October (having achieved all Outstandings, though not managing to outscore her husband, to his pride), Hermione had gotten some interest from various employers. It didn't hurt that she was Tom Riddle's new wife, and _everyone_ was curious about her.

Instead of accepting one of the offers, Hermione decided that she wanted to pursue further study. She could have picked any subject of her choosing, but she eventually settled on alchemy. Eglantine managed to arrange a meeting between her new _niece_ and renowned alchemist Nicholas Flamel, an old family friend of her grandfather.

While initially suspicious, Flamel quickly took a liking to the soon to be mother and agreed to take her on as an apprentice. Perhaps he thought she was less threatening being pregnant, or that her purpose of learning alchemy was more pure because she was interested in academic thought rather than greed.

He even promised to teach her how to make a philosopher's stone once he'd judged her skill level as sufficient.

Hermione was glad to have something to occupy her time. She didn't think she'd ever be a house witch, though she was sure her son would take up a lot of her time as well. It was nice to have something to keep her mind busy. And she hoped that she would eventually be able to make academic contributions to the field of alchemic research.

Tom was almost irrationally pleased that she had managed to charm Flamel - notoriously suspicious of outsiders and very secretive with his work. When she told him of her plans to create the Elixir of Life as a compromise to extend her life span, Tom had even promised to get rid of his horcruxes if she would share it with him.

It was then that she realized that even though Tom may have changed her, she had left her mark on the wizard as well. The Lord Voldemort she had been familiar with would never agree to give up his horcruxes - too paranoid and worried about his own mortality to give them up.

Hermione only hoped that she could continue to guide him down a more acceptable path - one where he didn't try to dominate the muggle world. One where he didn't become a mass murderer.

He seemed open to learning from the mistakes he'd made last time around, frequently talking to her about what she knew of his first life. But sometimes, Hermione worried that she was simply making him more effective, more sinister, better at consolidating power. He dressed up his plans in more palatable packaging, until everyone agreed that it would be wrong _not_ to agree to him.

Tom was determined to do things that she didn't agree with, but it was an improvement on the monster he'd been last time around, so she tried to accept the changes she was able to make. And though she was loathe to admit it, he did sometimes succeed in changing her mind, too.

Already, he was moving up the ranks in the Ministry. The Secretary that he worked for had privately shared that he planned on retiring the next year, and that Tom would be the one to receive his job. He'd already spoken with the Minister of Magic, who had signed off on the appointment. And, with all of his connections in the Wizengamot, his confirmation was all but assured. Tom would be the youngest Secretary in Ministry history, a distinction that had Tom buzzing.

After little Tom was born in March, Hermione hadn't been spending as much of her time with Flamel, instead choosing to enjoy the early months of her son's life. She knew that he would grow up so quickly, and she just wanted to soak up every minute of it. He was an exceptionally good baby and had already had several bouts of accidental magic.

Tom was a proud father, pleased that his son was going to live up to his father's name. Even though he was quite busy with work, he always made time to spend with his son and of course with his wife.

Hermione had been concerned that Tom only married her because Brutus Malfoy had all but commanded it. She wondered if her mystique would wear off once they were removed from the Dark Tower that had brought them together. If anything, Tom only became more attentive once they left Hogwarts. He was surprisingly good at romance, always finding little secret ways to show her he cared or showering her with affection.

She had long accepted that he would never say the words _i love you_ to her. Godric, she wasn't sure if Tom even knew that he _was_ in love with her. But she could tell that he was, and it was enough for her.

It was odd, this life that she found herself in. Hermione never would have expected to feel so _content_ living this way, but she was. She loved her husband, even for all his faults and moral flexibilities, and she loved her son.

She knew that her friends might be disappointed in the way that she'd folded under Tom's attention. That she'd fallen for his charms, despite _knowing_ what he really was under the handsome exterior. But, she knew that she held her own power, a power that couldn't fail.

It had been a children's story of all things that tipped her off. Eglantine had gifted her a book of stories to read to little Tom and it was the first time she'd come across the story of the three brothers. She recognized the Cloak of Invisibility easy enough from all her romps around Hogwarts under it. It gave her pause to think that the Resurrection Stone and the Elder Wand might be real. She'd always loved research projects, and she was determined to figure it out.

Imagine her surprise when she finally came to the conclusion that _she_ was the master of the Elder Wand, having defeated Dumbledore, who'd defeated Grindelwald.

She never imagined that Tom would hurt her, but it gave Hermione extra comfort to know that she had a power no one else knew about in her wand. However unlikely, Hermione was confident that she would best Tom should it come to that.

The fairy tale remained close to her heart.

Tom would often find her reading it to their son, just like he did on a hazy June afternoon. "What are you reading this time? The Three Brothers?" he asked, giving Hermione a kiss that lingered just long enough to tell her that he'd happily slip away into their bedroom if she suggested it.

She shrugged her shoulders and gave him a smile. "It's Tommy's favorite," she answered.

"He's only three months," Tom said with a laugh. "I doubt if he can tell one story from the other. Anyway, we should get going. My Knights will be waiting for us."

Hermione groaned. She did not want to spend the evening with Tom's Knights even if it was just for a dinner party. None of them liked her very much, as they had quickly discovered she was not a pureblood herself. But, Tom loved to make them uncomfortable by showing up with her, having her show them up with her quick wit and intelligence.

"I don't want to go. Evan's sisters always ask me the crassest things," she complained.

Evan Rosier clearly liked her the least and his sisters were snooty and rude. Even though she was meant to be a bastard child of Brutus Malfoy's sister, they all looked down on her and didn't bother to hide it.

Louis and Agustus were big stupid oafs who seemed to enjoy boasting about witches even though it was clear neither of them had ever been with one before. They enjoyed Quidditch and rough-housing far too much, but neither of them was downright condescending to her like Evan was.

The only one of Tom's friends that she got along with was Alfie Nott, apparently the father of her one time schoolmate Theodore. He was at least an intellectual like her, though he liked discussing the most arcane sorts of magic. He loved to delve into dangerous curses and jinxes (purely academically, of course) and frequently he was able to get Hermione to wax rhapsodic about all sorts of dark magic.

She'd quickly sussed out that he was doing it on purpose knowing how much she hated the thought of using dark magic. Hermione would never tell him this, but she'd put up with the talk about it, if only because everyone else at these parties were too dull.

And Tom could get so _delightfully_ jealous if he thought she was giving someone else too much interest.

The only one of Tom's Knights who truly despised her had left the country to complete a two year grand tour of the world. Edmund Lestrange, Tom's one time rival, insisted that he would be back, but he wanted to see the world first. Hermione was not entirely sure.

"If they want to be crass, let them," Tom said with a wave. "They're behavior does not reflect on us."

"Alright, fine," she conceded, knowing that she simply _had_ to attend this dinner. "But I want some sort of reward for being such a good witch and playing nice with them."

"Are you a good witch?" Tom asked, his nose scrunched up in amusement. "I for one would truly enjoy seeing you snap and showing the Rosiers your true prowess."

"Don't tempt me," Hermione pouted, knowing that Tom would always encourage her to indulge in her darker instincts.

Tom considered her for a moment. "I'll scrub your back in the bath," he suggested, his eyes going a bit darker when he considered all the ways he could touch her.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "That sounds like a reward for you, too," Hermione pouted, though the idea _sounded_ lovely. She bit her lower lip. "Admit that you need me," she offered.

"Admit it?" Tom asked with a laugh. "Of course I need you, Hermione. I couldn't live without you. Without you, I'd be off in some forest in Albania right now...or working at Borgin and Burkes. I'll happily admit it."

She could feel her heart clench in her chest. It felt good to hear him confess that so freely. It was a reminder of all that she had accomplished. When she arrived in the past, she quickly decided that she would change the future for the better. While she hadn't done it exactly the way that she originally envisioned it, she knew that it _was_ better than what she'd come from. She had given Tom a new path.

And Tom Riddle had given her freedom - from the Dark Tower and from herself.


End file.
